The Golden Chain
by PrunusPadus
Summary: Snape mentors Harry, but with a cruel twist. I did warn you! Inspiration from a story by Keina Snape. AU from HPB. Contains Horcrux hunting and the like. Character death. All the regular players. Gen fic.
1. Dumbledore's Plan

"Always."

As the silver mist of the dazzling doe Patronus faded, a lone tear wound its way between the crinkles on Headmaster Dumbledore's cheek.

Severus Snape, the Potion's Master, lowered his wand with a sigh, feeling bereft as he always felt after conjuring the bittersweet magic that was the memory of Lily Evans. He watched as the aged wizard in front of him sunk shakily into the throne-like chair behind the Headmaster's desk.

For a while, the only sound in the room was of Fawkes' preening and the wet March sleet that hit the lead glass window, brought there by the westerly gale that was typical for Scotland. The students had long since gone to bed.

At length, the Headmaster spoke. "I have done a significant amount of research lately." He laced his fingers together on the desk, creating a pattern of alternating healthy pink and shrivelled black. "Into several important matters…"

Severus took a seat in the smaller chair facing the Headmaster's, and gathered his cape around his body. Lately, the Headmaster had grown distant and thoughtful, and their conversations more often than not pertained to matters of war and death, and lasted long into the wee hours. Today was no exception, and Severus' was still reeling from the revelation that Harry Potter was a boy marked for death.

"As it appears," said Dumbledore in a gravelly voice, "there might be an alternative solution to our predicament."

"How so?" Severus leaned forward, supporting his weary head in his hands.

"Severus, when you took the unbreakable vow, you inadvertently led us to a path that hastens my own demise to a somewhat earlier time than I had originally planned."

Severus shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, but the Headmaster merely held up a hand. "Rest assured, my boy. I realise that it was necessary and do not blame you. Now, the solution I have found might not only spare my own life for a while, but also Harry's, and perhaps also your soul, and Draco's."

There was a slight pause as Dumbledore regarded the bent head of his spy. Cautiously, he continued. "It involves you greatly, and as I fear for your reaction, I must ask that you hear me out until the end. Severus, are you listening?"

"Yes, Headmaster." Severus drew his eyes up from the worn hardwood floor and straightened in his seat. Dumbledore's blue eyes met his own piercingly, as though they could see the secrets of his heart. He braced himself.

"There is a spell. An age-old spell that was created before we separated magic into light and dark. It ties two souls together with a strength that surpasses any other magic known to man. Severus, you are a very clever man. Can you guess of what I speak?"

Severus traced his lip with a finger, frowning. "I cannot say I know of such a spell… You mentioned soul-magic?"

"Not exactly." Dumbledore stroked a hand over his beard. "The nature of this spell is such that it will overrule your bond to Voldemort-" he paused, eyes drooping sadly as Severus flinched. "It will also allow you to break the vow you took to Narcissa Malfoy."

"I take it you intend to cast this spell on me then. May I ask what it entails?"

The Headmaster's gaze strayed to the window. Outside, the sleet had turned to hail. "If you do this, you can aid Harry in his task to kill Tom. There is something I have not told you, you see. A suspicion I have about the way that he has protected himself. But unless you agree to be bound by this spell, I cannot -dare not- reveal its nature."

Severus' neck prickled. "Bound…?"

"Yes. Bound. The risk is great, especially to yourself. To save Draco, you must take the blame when he fails in his mission. And in the end…" Dumbledore swallowed audibly. "In the end it might allow you to take Harry's place as Voldemort's assassin."

Severus' eyes widened, as a tendril of dread momentarily claimed his breath. Dumbledore looked at him with pity.

"Severus, my friend. I would not ask this of you had you not made it your life's mission to protect the boy. You said once that you would do anything, and so I push you as far as I can. Have I finally reached the end of your tether?"

He knew that he would pay for his mistakes in the end. Ever since Dumbledore had asked him to return to the Dark Lord's ranks, Severus had known that his life was forfeit. He'd had time to grow accustomed to this thought. But that _he_ would be the one to…

"Tell me more of this spell," he croaked.

"First I must warn you." Dumbledore said. "For this to work as planned, we must act so that Tom believes that I defeated both yourself and Draco. But this, if I may say so, will be the least of our problems. When you face him afterwards, there is the risk that he will kill you both on the spot. Thus, it is imperative that you maintain your high rank, and prove yourself valuable."

Severus made a nearly imperceptible nod. "I already have his favour. As his obsession with Potter grows, he has relied greatly on my advice…"

"As I am aware." Said Dumbledore. "The spell might even aid your occlusion against him, though I am not yet certain how this will work out. Nevertheless, it buys me a little more time to help Harry, and it allows you to aid us as well."

"And in the end, I let the Dark Lord kill me in Potter's stead?"

"Precisely." The Headmaster nodded solemnly. "You and I will sacrifice our lives to save the young ones. It is not such a terrible fate, is it?"

"The _spell_ , Dumbledore?"

"Ah, yes. The spell." The Headmaster rubbed his cursed hand over his brow, looking frail. "The spell, Severus is that of slavery."

Severus gaped, sinking back into the chair as numbness seeped into his extremities. The feeling he had at hearing those words, was as tangible as if the Headmaster had dealt him a physical blow. He could do nothing to prevent the hurt from entering his voice. "You wish to enslave me?" He whispered. "Is my word of honour no longer sufficient? Do you feel that I am somehow lacking in my duties to you?"

The Headmaster shook his head empathically. "Oh, no! My dear boy, I think you perform them admirably. I could not ask for a braver, more loyal soldier." There was kindness in the aged eyes, but also sadness. "Casting the spell between the two of us would make no sense though. No. It is _Harry_ who must become your master. Only in that way can you substitute him in the final duel against Voldemort."

He did not flinch this time; he was already frightened and could barely hear Dumbledore's words in the first place. Clenching his hands to hide the tremor there, and summoning all the anger he could muster, he bit out, "not so terrible indeed. To Potter. Of all people, you wish to tie me to the child of my enemy. Have I not suffered enough? I want nothing to do with that boy!"

"Yet every action you have partaken these last few years has been for him," stated Dumbledore calmly. "And if not for him, then for Lily." As an afterthought he added "And for myself. Will it really make such a large difference? "

"I will be a slave! I must obey every juvenile, impulsive thought that enters that dim-witted skull! Of all your insane ideas, Headmaster, this is by far the most dangerous!"

Dumbledore sighed. "If you agree to this, I will take care of Harry. Severus, you have my word of that. You need only see him in class. The boy has a good heart. He will understand, and treat you with respect. I will make sure of this. In time, when the end grows near, he will have learned to appreciate your sacrifice."

Restlessly, Severus stood from his chair and walked to look out the window. The night was dark, and all he could see was his own haggard reflection. Heart heavy, he turned his back on it.

"What of the Dark Lord?"

The Headmaster frowned. "He cannot know. That is imperative. But the bond should see to that. If Harry orders you to act as a spy, my hope is that it will aid your magic and strengthen your ability to occlude. As such, you can continue your duties, which gives us a significant advantage. It means that I can reveal to you what I suspect about Tom's defences so that you can gather the necessary information to destroy them."

There was silence in the oval office for the longest time. The hailstorm had lessened and Fawkes slept atop his perch, head tucked beneath a red-and-golden wing. At last, Severus cleared his raspy voice.

"If I am to do this, Dumbledore, you must _promise_ to keep Potter away from me. I cannot guarantee that I will be able to act rationally around him."

The Headmaster inclined his head. "You have my word."

"And do _not_ tell him why."

"I will not. But you cannot deny him if he asks."

Dumbledore stood from his desk, and walked to a cabinet beside the fireplace. He poured two drinks, and added something from a stoppered vial into one of them.

"Take this," he said. "It has a calming draught in it, to help you relax." He put an aging hand on Severus' shoulder. "Should we proceed with this plan, time is of the essence, and so we must seal the bond before Draco consummates whichever plan he has forged. You will see me tomorrow, after dinner. Then we will explain to Harry that which he needs to know, and I will cast the spell."

Severus accepted the drink, downing it in one. It burned his throat, and he felt the warmth spread out from his belly.

"Very well, Dumbledore," he said, a little calmer.

The Headmaster smiled sadly, and gave his shoulder a final squeeze. Then he turned and pulled a book from his shelf. "Take this. It explains a few thing that you need to know about the slave-bond. I suggest you come prepared tomorrow. That way, we might be able to avoid a few uncomfortable situations…"

"As you say." Severus accepted the dusty tome and put his empty glass on the mantle.

"Goodnight, Severus." Dumbledore said quietly. "I wish things could have turned out differently for you, but I fear this is the best option that we have."

Severus nodded, wishing the same. But the truth of Dumbledore's words resounded in his mind. There was very little that he would not do for Lily's memory. Even this. And however much he resented his fate, he knew in his heart that he deserved it. That the only thing he could do to make things right by her, was to do everything within his power to save her only child. For that, he would even face the Dark Lord.

At least, he would be relieved of the burden of having to kill his long-time friend and mentor.

The book weighed heavily on him as he made his way to his quarters, as though he carried his doom in his hand. There were no misbehaving stragglers in the hallways for him to vent his frustration upon, which was fortunate. With this level of stress, he would have given them hell to pay.

…

The next morning found Severus with a plate of sausages and a cup of tea at the head table. On his left side, Slughorn was trying to engage him in a conversation about the properties of mandrake roots, but Severus found himself unable to concentrate. Instead, as he ate his breakfast mechanically, his gaze was straying to the Gryffindor table.

Potter was there, with his sidekicks Weasley and Granger, and they were whispering amongst themselves excitedly, no doubt conspiring about the recent attack on Miss Bell. The incident had unsettled all of the students, particularly the Gryffindors, and the habitual mavericks of the 'Golden Trio' were the worst of them all. Knowing them, they were probably suspecting every Slytherin in school, Severus himself topping their list. Potter had already noticed him watching them, and was shooting him the occasional angry glare. Severus sighed.

Today would put severe strain onto his self-control, and he dreaded it. His life was about to change irrevocably, and at the end of this path was only death.

What little he had managed to read the evening before confirmed what Dumbledore had said. By allowing himself to become Potter's property, their souls would entangle with each other, and magically, it would enable him to give his life in Potter's stead. Dumbledore's book gave no description of what this would mean to Potter's soul, but at least, his life would be intact.

Severus did not know how to feel about this. It was one thing to readily offer up his life in battle, but to go unarmed to his death, knowing that the Dark Lord would strike him down…

And even before that, he needed to get through the ordeal that was dealing with Potter. Severus trusted that Dumbledore would keep his word and hold the boy's reins, but what would happen when the curse in his hand finally got the better of him? The slave-bond could not be broken, once forged. Would Potter seize the opportunity and take revenge on his most despised teacher once the Headmaster died?

Severus knew that he was not a kind man. He'd not received much kindness as a child, and was not practiced in giving it to others. He also knew that he was not the most approachable teacher in school. It might not always appear that way, but the truth was that he really did try. He tried to be a good teacher. And if not a good one, then at least a successful one. But even he had to admit that he sometimes slipped, and with Potter, he'd slipped quite a bit.

It was just so damnably difficult to keep himself calm and collected when the boy's very existence was an arrow through his heart. When Lily's eyes regarded him with distrust and anger, it reminded him time and time again of his folly, and of all the things that had gone so very wrong in his life. Yet, there was a small part of him - probably, he thought, the small part that still knew how to tell apart good from bad - that felt that _this_ was the most appropriate of his punishments.

Regardless of how he felt, he'd have to shape up now, that much was for certain. He had a double Defence lesson with Potter's set before lunch, and it would be a useful test of his restraint. Grunting his excuses to his fellow Potion's Master, Severus stood from his seat and made his way to his classroom on the third floor.

His morning lesson was a group of first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs; a dutiful class that seldom gave him any difficulties. He assigned them a complicated essay, which would keep them busy and out of his hair for the entire two-period.

He already had a clear plan in his mind, which simply consisted of avoiding Potter as much as humanly possible. He needed to rein in his temper, and the best way to do this was to avoid talking to the brat altogether. It was going to be exceedingly difficult. Severus took a seat behind his desk, leant back as he watched his first-years, and attempted to find inner calm.

He was very nearly successful, and sometime later, when the hallway outside his classroom began to bustle with the unmistakeable rowdiness that signalled the arrival of the Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth-years, he realised he'd kept the poor first-years a whole five minutes over their allotted time. In their fear of their professor, none of the students had dared point this out to him. He nearly felt sorry for the little sods.

"Class dismissed," he called belatedly, opening the door with a flick of his wand. They hastily gathered their things and all but ran outside, eager to make their escape. Severus stood stiffly from his chair and stepped down from the dais, robes billowing as he mentally steeled himself.

Potter came running into the classroom as the other students were settling, stuffing something into his bag. How _typical_. Severus wondered what the boy was up to -probably sticking his nose in where it should not be, as per usual- but managed to quell the desire to take off points for tardiness.

"Before we start, I want your Dementor essays," he said instead, summoning the scrolls. "And I hope for your sake they are better than the tripe I had to endure on resisting the Imperius Curse. Now if you will all open your books at page – what is it, Mr. Finnigan?"

Severus gnashed his teeth while answering an idiotic question about an article in the _Prophet_ on inferi, which really was about a certain pickpocketing 'Order member', and vented some of his frustration by belittling the very scoundrel that was Mundungus Fletcher. As he walked the isle between desks back towards the dais, he overheard Potter whispering to Granger and Weasley.

"I thought Snape and Mundungus were on the same side? Shouldn't he be upset he's been arrested?"

"Quiet, Harry!" Granger hissed, in an even louder voice than Potter had used. Severus habitually seized on the opportunity she presented him.

"Miss Granger," he said, with evident distaste. "Clearly your endless wisdom cannot be contained. Ten points from Gryffindor." He smirked when a few of his Slytherins laughed. "Step forward, please, and you will get the opportunity to demonstrate your superior skills with the wand."

He took a moment, pondering what would bother Potter the most. Cautiousness be damned. "Ah, Mr. Longbottom." He beckoned the boy forward. "Please join Miss Granger. You will both show us the execution of a proper wizard's duel."

It was an uneven match, and Severus thoroughly enjoyed the apparent dread on the clumsy Longbottom's face as he made his way to the dais on shaky legs.

"I'd have you practice on Weasley, Miss Granger," Severus paused for effect. "but the boy is apparently so dense he can't even apparate half an inch across a room. I fear for his safety."

Weasley went beet red and the look on Potter's face was oh, so satisfying. Granger seemed angry, but determined.

"Wand at the ready, Longbottom." Severus called. "You may begin."

Granger allowed Longbottom the first move. He fired a bat-bogey hex, which she repelled easily by using the counter curse. Granger then shot back a nonverbal _langlock_ -Severus recognised it by the light blue sparks that bounced off Longbottom's shield charm- which took him slightly aback. _Langlock_ was one of his own, where could she have learned that spell?

"We need to make this more interesting, I think," He said aloud. "Our duellists are rather tame, don't you think?" At this, there were several gleeful snickers from the Slytherins. "From now on, I will penalise whichever one of you takes too long to retaliate. A mild stinging hex shouldn't be too painful."

Severus' eyes met Potter's from across the room. The boy looked mutinous, and for a moment, Severus wondered if what he was doing was indeed wise. But it was glorious to hold this power over his unwitting tormentor, and he was oh, so loath to see it disappear.

"Why don't you give us a proper demonstration yourself _Professor_?" The strong, impertinent voice belonged to Potter, of course, who had stood from his chair and was walking forward, wand in hand. "Or are you afraid a mere student will get the best of you?"

Gleefully, Severus smirked at the boy. This was precious indeed. "Why Potter," he said silkily, "that sounds almost like a challenge. Are you quite sure you're… up to it?"

The taunt had its desired effect, and judging from his red face and the steel in his eyes, Potter wanted very much to curse his professor to the seventh circle of hell. Severus was not worried though. Potter was excessively impulsive and too transparent to pose a real threat to a seasoned wizard like himself, even without the aid of legillimency.

"Definitely," said Potter, taking Granger's place at the dais. The confidence he projected would have been impressive had Severus not already been all-too familiar with the brat's arrogance.

"Very well." Severus waved Longbottom away and brandished his wand. "Non-harmful spells only, Potter. Until one of us is hit or disarmed." Potter nodded, jaw clenched. "On the count of three, then. One… Two…"

Severus struck with a disarming spell, but unlike in their disastrous occlumency lessons, Potter was apparently well prepared for the swift attack. He jumped aside, dodging the spell, and retaliated quickly with _stupefy_. Severus parried easily enough, and for several moments, they circled the dais, throwing hexes as they felt one another out.

Potter had apparently been practicing his wandwork, and Severus was mildly surprised by his quick reflexes. The boy managed to fire three rapid curses in a row, launching the two last ones nonverbally.

"Blocked again, Potter." Severus drawled lazily. "Your every move is written plainly on that red face of yours. Apparently, you're just as incapable as ever of supressing those juvenile emotions. It makes it only too easy for me to-"

At this point, they had drawn very close to one another, and Severus suddenly fired a stinging hex, which would have hit Potter squarely in the face, had he not responded with astounding swiftness. The shouted _protego_ was explosive, and Severus staggered backwards, hitting a nearby desk.

He cursed himself for forgetting Potter's proficiency with the shield charm –they were of an unusual strength, something he should have known very well after having been on the brunt end of them several times in the past. Aggravated, he regarded Potter, who looked just as surprised as he was.

" _Stupefy_! _Reducto_!"

"Harmless spells only, Potter." Severus barked. "Are you completely incapable of following simple instruction?"

Potter was tenacious, but his spells were not difficult to block. Severus once again closed in on the boy, intent on giving him a taste of his own medicine.

" _Levicorpus_!"

When the boy shouted the very curse he must have learned by watching his father do the same to Severus as a teenager, he got angry for real. It was time to end this farce.

" _Deprimo. Impedimenta_." A powerful gale cursed through the classroom, throwing Potter off balance to such a degree that the tripping jinx brought him to his knees.

Severus wasted no time in casting the disarming spell, but in his rush to win, the magic he used was so strong that it threw the boy backwards, away from his conquered wand.

Potter's head hit the wall with a dull thump, and Severus' heart stopped dead in his chest.


	2. Fianto Duri

The room was completely silent for several moments. Then, a shrill voice jolted Severus' heart back into life.

"Harry!"

Granger ran forward and skidded to a halt next to her fallen friend. "Professor!" She turned to look imploringly at her teacher. "Please do something, he's hurt!"

For yet another moment, all Severus could do was stare, absolutely transfixed, at the prone body. The thrall of power he'd felt only moments before had broken like brittle glass. Visions of Dumbledore's fearsome wrath, and of Lily's righteous hatred swam before his mind's eye. If there had ever been any doubt about it, he knew now with the outmost certainty that whichever horrifying future fate had in store for him, he would fully deserve every single agonising minute of it. Nothing on this Earth could possibly redeem him if he had done permanent damage to Lily's son.

Then his brain took over, and he rushed to the boy's side, pushing Granger away, none too gently. Potter's eyes were shut and blood trickled from a cut on the back of his head, but to Severus' utter relief, he was merely knocked unconscious.

He looked oddly small and thin laying there, and without the perpetual scowl the boy wore whenever Severus was near, he could see the shape of Lily's face below that ridiculous messy hair. Severus reached out a trembling hand and picked up the glasses that had fallen off Potter's face, putting them into a pocket together with the holly wand. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and released it slowly, realising that he had been holding it in this entire time. Despite appearing relatively fine, there was a real danger that the boy had a concussion. Reviving him under those conditions was not advisable, and Severus wanted to get him to the Infirmary as soon as possible.

"Professor, is he alright?"

Severus startled when Granger spoke softly, from just behind his shoulder. He had not even realised she was there. Looking back at her, he discovered that her expression was not hostile, but one of concern.

"He'll be fine," he answered quietly, disarmed by her lack of reproach. He kept his voice down, so that she would be the only one to hear. He barely caught her muttered 'Thank God,' before straightening and dismissing his class, mindlessly telling them to prepare an essay on the cruciatus curse before their next lesson. Then, he cast a lightening charm on Potter to ease the burden, and picked up the boy in his arms to carry him to the Infirmary.

Granger and Weasley followed close on his heels, but Severus paid them no heed. Poppy could deal with them later. He walked swiftly, and was out of breath by the time they finally reached the Hospital Wing.

"Poppy!"

Using his shoulder, he pushed open the Infirmary door while still cradling Potter in his arms. The boy had not awoken on the trip, and his head lolled limply against Severus' arm.

"Severus, are you alright?"

Poppy came towards them, wand already in hand. Her shoes made sharp clicking noises against the stone floor, and they echoed through the large room. When she saw the unconscious boy in Severus' arms, her gait quickened. Severus looked around him, ascertaining that they were alone. "Potter has a concussion, I think," he told Poppy. "I dared not try to wake him."

Not asking again what had happened, Poppy indicated for him to lay Potter down on the nearest cot. "Does he have any other injuries than the head wound?"

Severus shook his head in the negative, giving up his place by the bed to give her room to work. He was grateful to give over the boy to a pair of capable hands. As a Head of House, he had basic training in first aid, and no one in the castle met his match when it came to reversing the damage caused by dark magic. But treating trauma to the head could be both complicated and delicate work, and was best left to the experts. He watched silently as the matron cast a general diagnostic spell.

She was good with the students, Poppy. Always cool in a crisis. She was discreet and reliable, and usually managed to earn her patients' trust without fussing. Severus himself had been grateful for this on many occasions.

"You're right, Severus," she said mildly. "He has a concussion. Nothing too severe though, but you did well taking him here."

Suddenly, another, stronger voice filled the room, and they all turned towards the entrance.

"What is going on here?"

The Headmaster strode inside, his grey robe flowing gracefully around his feet, and Severus tensed in nervous anticipation. He had wanted to be the one to inform Dumbledore of what had happened, but the man was nearly omniscient when it came to the comings and goings at the school, and attempting to anticipate him was a useless endeavour. He closed in on them briskly, and judging by the apprehensive look in the sky-blue eyes, Severus was due for a dressing down once Potter's wellbeing was secured.

"A moment, Albus," said Poppy calmly. "Please be silent, I'm going to do a more specific scan of Mr. Potter's head."

Dumbledore nodded, and cast a silencing charm around the matron and her patient. It was so powerful that for a moment, the air around them shimmered with a blueish glow. Then the Headmaster turned to Severus.

"What has happened to Harry?" His tone was professional, and the blue eyes were sharp and devoid of their usual twinkle.

"Potter hit his head during Defence," said Severus, conscious of the two students at his side. "We were practicing duelling, and a spell hit him at close range. It was an accident."

"You complete git," muttered Weasley darkly. When the Headmaster's eyebrows shot upwards, he continued in a clearer voice. "It was Snape who did it, Professor." His eyes flicked briefly in Severus' direction. "And it looked as though he did it on purpose."

The Granger girl seemed uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, but she said nothing to contradict her friend. Weasley sighed exasperatedly.

"Snape has singled out Harry since he first set foot in this school. He treats him worse than he treats anyone else in our year, and I once saw him deliberately destroy Harry's potion, just to make sure he would fail. If it were me, I would have made my parents file a complaint for student abuse, but Harry just suffers it as though it normal. But then, _he_ hasn't got any parents, has he?"

That last statement stung, and Severus had problems with meeting Dumbledore's eyes for a moment. Desperate to make their conversation private, he turned towards Poppy, who has finished her scan and was watching the exchange with a stern expression. The Headmaster seemed to understand and comply with the unspoken request, and addressed the matron.

"How is he?"

"Mr. Potter is fine," said Poppy. "He has a concussion, and needs to rest until tomorrow, but he'll be alright. He should stay off Quidditch for a week though; to prevent additional blows... he should also avoid any duelling, of course." She added the last statement with a swift glance in Severus' direction, looking almost apologetic.

"Good," said the Headmaster, who had moved to Potter's bedside, and had placed a gnarled hand over the sleeping boy's smooth, fresh one. "The resilience of the young never seizes to amaze me," he said, seemingly to no one in particular. "I have always admired Mr. Potter's ability to recover from the obstacles that life throws at him…." He appeared lost in thought for a moment, then turned abruptly and started towards the exit. "Severus, come," he called, without looking back. "Walk with me, please." The pleasantry did not quite conceal the command within his words, and Severus could not contain the sigh that forced its way up from deep within his gut. He felt Poppy's hand on his shoulder, squeezing once, before the matron turned towards Granger and Weasley, who were casting concerned glances in Potter's direction. No doubt, they would fight her tooth and nail to be allowed to remain at their friend's side.

The boy was lucky to have companions like that, and Severus felt a brief resentment towards him that was wholly inappropriate in the current situation. Gathering the remains of his tattered dignity, he followed the Headmaster with even steps, keeping his head held high.

"I will walk you to your classroom."

Dumbledore's words made him realise that they had missed lunch, and that another set of students were waiting for him to arrive. As he walked side by side with the Headmaster through the school's corridors, he resolved to assign essays to this group as well, and to the remainder of the classes he had to teach that day. With how quickly his life was going to hell these days, he would have a mountain of grading to do before he could schedule time for a duel with the Dark Lord.

Just before they reached his allotted classroom on the third floor, Dumbledore steered him into an alcove, and turned around to bring them face to face. "Severus," he said, in a low voice. "Unlike what you probably expect, I'm not going to berate you for what you did to Harry, as I believe that you are already punishing yourself for it. But I will say this." Severus met his mentor's gaze, and saw both sadness there, and passion.

"If you could only open your eyes and see your own soul clearly, as I see it, you could make the remainder of your days a lot easier to bear. Perhaps even pleasant. You deny it so ardently, thinking you are protecting yourself, but time and time again you end up causing harm to both Harry and to yourself."

The Headmaster's words made Severus feel confused and unsettled. He opened his mouth to argue, but the older man continued before he could form the words.

"I think that you know, Severus, as do I, what your apparent dislike of the boy really is about. That deep down, it is not aversion, or hate. You know in your heart that it is the wish that he was your own…"

The word unspoken were like a knife twisting in his gut. Severus was nearly a head taller than Dumbledore, but at that moment, he felt very small. Backing away from the powerful wizard in front of him, he schooled his expression into one of contempt. "Seize your incessant prattling, old man," he snarled viciously "You are overstepping your limits, pestering me with your naïve romanticism. I've no interest in the brat, or was your hearing impaired when I told you I'm doing this for…"

He was unable to continue the rant, but the Headmaster merely held his gaze, watching him serenely behind his half-moon spectacles. He looked both sad and pleased at the same time, and nodded slightly, as though in recognition that Severus was not yet ready to hear what he had wanted to convey. "Very well," he said. "Go and teach the young ones. You have the seventh-years I believe; they are your favourites, are they not?"

Dumbledore's kindly words in the face of his own outburst made Severus feel unwanted remorse for even opening his mouth, and even more so for harming his mentor's favourite protégé. It was also tinged with an unease that he could not quite name. "I…yes, Headmaster," he said, more subdued. He hesitated. "Headmaster, what Weasley said before, about me and Potter… It wasn't a lie. I…I _wanted_ to hurt him, not physically, but... I know it is wrong, but sometimes I have problems with withholding my anger. Especially around him." He snorted at his own ludicrous confession, shaking his head a little. "I'm a terrible human being, I know."

"That is alright, my boy." The Headmaster smiled kindly. "You will find your way, I am quite certain of it. And no permanent harm has been done. Harry has a capability of forgiveness that is quite remarkable. We will reschedule our meeting with him until tomorrow. He needs to rest, and dare I say it, so do you." He glanced over Severus' shoulder, eyes twinkling. "Now, you better leave before they start doing mischief in there, I can hear them getting rowdier as we speak."

Dumbledore was right. The excited chatter from the classroom made it into the hall even though the door was firmly shut. The students were surely celebrating the absence of their harsh professor.

Severus nodded at Dumbledore as he left, not feeling very reassured. He watched the man's back for another moment, until the familiar form disappeared through a hidden passage behind a suite of armour.

The rest of his day transpired without notable incidents. Severus managed to keep Potter and bonding-spells out of his head by teaching and grading some of the essays he had assigned, and by brewing yet another futile attempt at a potion to cure Dumbledore's cursed hand. When nighttime came though, his thoughts became louder, and as he patrolled the hallways to escape the emptiness of his rooms, it did not take long before his feet carried him to the Infirmary.

Poppy had gone to her chambers and Potter was soundly asleep, but he nevertheless cast a concealment charm on himself. It would not do to be discovered here, least of all by the brat himself.

The boy looked relaxed and carefree in his sleep, unknowing of what laid in store for the both of them. Producing the holly wand and the round glasses from his pocket, and putting them on the bedside table, he stole a peak at the messy head, where Poppy had placed a bandage over the cut. It had not been large, and would probably be healed by the morning.

Severus produced his own wand. It was made from ebony, with a dragon heartstring core, and had belonged to his mother, Eileen. He pointed its tip at Potter's chest.

" _Fianto duri_. _Protego_."

A faint white sphere seemed to surround the sleeping teenager, before it faded into the darkness. Severus stood quite still for some time, his hand hovering over the boy as though he was about to touch him. But instead of reaching out, he retreated his fingers at last, fisting them at his side.

At length, when his feet started to ache from standing too long, he sat in the chair by Potter's bedside, watching the rise and fall of the boy's chest.

He did not leave until the new day was growing near.


	3. The Spell

When Harry Potter awoke, it was to an odd tingling sensation in his chest. It wasn't painful, nor was it an itch. It was difficult to find the right word to describe it, but he felt warm… or perhaps whole…

He was a little confused as to where he was, and whose bed he was laying in. The bedding lacked the crimson comforter he had in his dorm. Neither were they the comfortably worn ones that Aunt Petunia used to give him at Private Drive... They were of a rough and thick quality, heavily starched, and so blindingly white, that even in the semi-darkness, his eyes hurt just from looking at them.

He thought he'd heard a sound, but no on e semmed to be nearby, and when he tried to look around, his head spun, and he had to close his eyes. He lifted a heavy hand and felt a bandage wrapped tightly around his head. He felt slightly dizzy…

It was dark and he needed the loo, but he felt too tired and couldn't really be bothered. There was a familiar scent in the room… It was not foul, but it reminded him of something, or someone, unpleasant…

…

He must have dozed off, because when he awoke again, feeling infinitely better, sun was shining through the windows and everything was decidedly less weird. He knew immediately that he was in the Infirmary. It took a moment before he remembered what had happened yesterday, but when he did, his face heated, out of both anger, and humiliation.

A wave of hatred coursed through him as he thought of Snape, and of how he probably was gloating in his triumph. To be knocked unconscious by an _expelliarmus_ …. It was worthy of someone like Gilderoy Lockheart, and Harry had thought himself above that since second grade.

He rubbed a hand over his face, and groaned. Snape deserved to die a slow and painful death. Or better yet, to burn in hell for all of eternity. He was worse than Malfoy. Worse even than Voldemort at times…

The thought of Malfoy, though, made him imagine the glee of the Slytherin students as they had watched Snape make a mince pie out of him. Quickly deciding to get up rather than to lie wallowing in bed, he stretched his body experimentally.

As he reached his hands over his head though, he felt something on the pillow. It was a small piece of parchment. He picked his glasses from atop the bedside cupboard, and unfolded it.

 _Harry,_

 _I hereby request your presence in my office today, Friday, after dinner._

 _My favourite sweets are liquorice quills._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

"I shall be very relieved, Mr. Potter, when you graduate from this school."

Harry turned his head in the direction of the voice, to see Madame Pomfrey coming out of her office, carrying a thick medical chart and eyeing him sternly, half in jest, half serious. "I never saw a boy having quite as many accidents as yourself. It is beginning to grate on my nerves." She smiled kindly, taking the edge off her words, and produced her wand. "Now hold still while I perform another scan- Ah, no talking!"

Harry shut his mouth and complied. He'd been in the Infirmary enough times to know that the matron would get her way, and that he'd get out quicker if he obeyed.

"There now. That wasn't so difficult, was it?" She studied her parchment and took some notes with a self-inking quill. "And you'll be pleased to know that you're fit as a fiddle. You've had a concussion, but I gave you a grade-three headache draught, and it seems to have done the trick." She looked at him piercingly. "Lucky you, that we have such a competent brewer in school..."

The thought of Slughorn made Harry's stomach sink, but he refused to dwell on it. He had quite enough problems to begin with, and was not quite ready to think about the elusive man and Dumbledore's prised memory. "Can I go then?" He asked, eager to see his friends, and not waiting for Madame Pomfrey to answer before getting up. First of all, he needed the loo.

"Yes, you may," she answered with a hint of annoyance. "But please refrain from getting your head bumped again anytime soon, I'd rather not see you here for a while. And I'm giving you a week's quarantine from Quidditch."

"You should tell that to Snape," muttered Harry under his breath, as he dressed and retrieved his wand, which had been placed carefully on the bedside table. The matron either did not hear his remark, or refused to comment upon it.

When he returned from the bathroom, she had gone, and Hermione and Ron were waiting for him next to the Infirmary door.

"Harry! How do you feel?" Hermione hugged him tightly and he felt a broad grin form on his face as he fought to get her curls out of his eyes and nose.

"Hi! I'm fine. Fit as a fiddle, according to Pomfrey." To Ron, he added, "She banned me from Quidditch for a week though, said I had a concussion. Fortunate that our match against Slytherin was last weekend."

Hermione released him and Ron beamed at the reminder of his triumph. "Yeah, we know." he said, "Bummer, though."

"I can't believe Snape knocked you unconscious." Hermione said.

"I know," answered Harry darkly. "He's such a git. Never been worse, actually, and he was an absolute bastard to begin with."

"Yes," said Hermione thoughtfully. "He seemed a bit out of it, now that you mention it. Distracted, or upset somehow. You don't suppose something bad has happened?"

"Hermione," said Ron shrewdly. "Snape's not upset. And if he was, would that ever put him off tormenting Harry? He never needs a reason to be a bastard, it's just who he is."

"Yeah," added Harry. "If anything bad happened, Snape would be happy."

"He even lied about it, you know," said Ron. "Said it was an accident."

Harry scowled. "I'm not surprised."

"I'm not so sure…" Hermione seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You know, the shield charm you cast yesterday? It seemed unusually strong…"

"Yeah," Ron added. "Snape was totally blown! It was brilliant!"

Hermione regarded him. "However did you do that?"

"No idea, Hermione. I just did. Like in DA, I suppose." He grinned playfully. "Maybe I have a special talent?"

"Maybe." Hermione rolled her eyes, and hefted her bag. "We should get going, though. Transfiguration begins in ten."

"You know, Harry," said Ron as they began to walk. "If you filed a complaint against Snape, Dumbledore might be forced to have him resign or something. You'd do us all a favour."

"He is a spy for the Order, Ron." Said Hermione, exasperated. "Dumbledore can't fire him just like that..."

"Why, yes he could," Ron countered. "Snape doesn't need to be a _teacher_ to spy, does he? Dumbledore could demote him to caretaker or something. He'd get along splendidly with Filch. Hey!" his eyes widened, "You could ask Dad to help you file a complaint at the Ministry!"

Harry laughed. "That's just silly, Ron. They'll never listen."

"Harry, you say that only because you've never had an adult looking out for you. It won't be like that if we get Dad to help us. I'm sure it will be investigated if an actual adult reports it."

"You're forgetting that Lucius Malfoy works at the Ministry." Hermione said darkly. "It won't look good for your Dad to file a complaint, Ron. They're not exactly bosom friends as it is."

"Hermione's probably right," Harry said, wary of getting Mr. Weasley into trouble. "Oh, I almost forgot. I got a note from Dumbledore this morning. He asked me to come to his office later today."

"What do you suppose it's about?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe he wants to talk to you about what Snape did?" said Ron hopefully.

"I don't think so," answered Harry darkly. "It's probably about that memory from Slughorn."

Hermione's head whipped around. "Any idea how to get it?"

Harry groaned. "Hermione, please don't start nagging about that. If I had an idea, I'd just go ahead and do it, wouldn't I? Now, can we please not talk about this, it's giving me a headache."

"Fine," said Ron. "But I still think you should complain about Snape. It was inexcusable for a teacher, what he did. He could have hurt you badly."

"I'm not doing it, Ron." Harry patted him on the back, smiling. "I won't ask your Dad for anything that might get him into trouble. But thanks for the offer."

"Luckily, we don't have defence today," Ron grumbled. "At least we'll get a break from the ol' greasy git."

By that time, they were outside of the Transfiguration classroom, and had to hurry to their seats to prevent Professor McGonagall from taking House points.

…

"Liquorice quills."

Later that day found Harry at the bottom of Hogwarts' highest tower. The stone gargoyle shaped as an eagle turned aside at his prompt, and he stepped onto the spiral staircase, allowing it to bring him to the heavy oaken door that lead to the oval office at the top.

He did not need to knock because the door was already slightly ajar, and he could hear faint voices coming from within.

"…told you, and you should know that I do not take my promises lightly."

It was Dumbledore, sounding slightly agitated, which to Harry seemed a bit unusual. The elderly Headmaster had always been kind in a grandfatherly sort of way, even during the lessons they had shared. A tingle of guilt swept through him when he thought about his pending mission to obtain Slughorn's memory.

"Headmaster, I do not doubt you."

Harry started when he heard the hated drawl of none other than the man who had knocked him unconscious the previous day. What was _Snape_ , of all people, doing here? Was this some kind of follow-up conversation from their duel? Curiosity perked, Harry waited silently in the shadow behind the door. Perhaps Snape really would be fired, as Ron had said. There was a thrill of satisfaction in his stomach at the thought, and he strained his ears to listen.

"But I fear for the time when you are no longer be with us," said Snape. "Defeating him may take _years_ , and I'm afraid-"

Snape stopped talking, but Harry was already reeling. Why was Snape talking about the Headmaster dying? And would it really take _that_ long to defeat Voldemort? He hadn't got that impression from Dumbledore…

"I have reason to believe that it will not," said the Headmaster. There was an air of finality in his voice. "But this is a conversation for another time. It might interest you to know, Severus, that we have a visitor."

Red-eared, as he realised he was caught out, Harry pushed the door fully open, and entered the familiar office. Dumbledore was regarding him over his half-moon spectacles, and sure enough, Snape was also there, in his habitual billowing cape, giving Harry his usual black glare.

"Eavesdropping, Potter? How _typical_." The contempt in those words was laid on thick, and a wave of hatred coursed through Harry. Snape had no right to belittle him like that after what he'd done. Dumbledore though, merely held up a hand, calling for silence, and Harry had to bite back on his retort. He crossed the floor warily, keeping as far away from Snape as possible.

"Harry, my boy," the Headmaster said. "I hope you are well and recovered? Please have a seat." He indicated one of the two chairs in front of the large desk, and Harry nodded and took a seat. Snape, to his dismay, stiffly sat down in the other.

"I'm fine, Sir."

"Good, good…" Dumbledore sat in his own chair behind the desk, a gleam of curiosity in his blue eyes. "Have you made any progress on the task I gave you?"

Harry wriggled uncomfortably, earning an annoyed glance from Snape. "Um… no, Sir… I've tried to talk to him several times but…"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, seeming slightly disappointed. "No matter. I am sure you will manage in time. But you must be wondering why I have summoned you here."

"Yeah." Harry shot a nervous glance at Snape. "Professor, if this is about what happened in Defence yesterday, I think I'd prefer to have someone else with me… an adult, like Mr. Weasley, or…"

"It's nothing like that, Harry," interjected Dumbledore. "And if you do want to have that conversation, we will schedule it for a later time. No, the reason I called you here today has to do with the prophecy, and as always, I ask you not to mention anything of what goes on in this office to anyone other than Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger."

"Oh, of course." So Snape knew of the prophecy as well? That was strange…

"Good. You see, I have done some research into a set of spells that might aid us in defeating Voldemort."

There was a low sound from Snape, and Harry turned to look at him. The man seemed very angry, even more so than usual.

"I brought Professor Snape here also," continued the Headmaster, "because I believe you both will be instrumental in staging his demise. You see, Harry, for some time I have thought that _you_ , the boy of the prophecy, would be the only one who could deal him the final blow."

Unsure whether he liked the direction the conversation was taking, Harry merely nodded. Snape remained unmoving and silent.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Professor Snape and I believe we have found a way for someone else, someone more weathered and experienced, to take your place."

At these words, something uncoiled in Harry's stomach. A tight knot of tension he had not even known was there, and that made Ron's words from earlier that day resonate in his head. All of a sudden, he realised that _this_ was something he had been waiting for –had craved- ever since he had learned of the blasted prophecy, and Sirius had died. Finally, someone other than him was going to take responsibility. Someone who knew what they were doing; an actual _adult_.

"I will warn you straight away," the Headmaster continued, "it is not an easy solution, and it requires a great deal of effort from the both of you, but in the end, I am convinced that the outcome will be the most favourable for all involved parties."

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape's hand twitch a little at that last statement, and the relief he felt only seconds before was replaced by a new worry. Was _Snape_ the qualified person that Dumbledore was talking about? It made sense, seeing as the man was a Death Eater and close to Voldemort. But to trust him with _this_ … "Who will this person be, Sir?" The abrupt question was probably a bit rude, judging from the Headmaster's raised eyebrows, but Harry _had_ to know.

Dumbledore leaned back solemnly. "As it is, Harry," he said with some force. "I have asked you here today to give to you Professor Snape, so that he can help you in your plight. I strongly suggest that you take that which is offered." He held up a hand, to forestall further interruptions "And before you say anything else, I must inform you that it will be necessary to perform a spell on the two of you. It will link your souls together in such a way that Severus' magic will be recognised as, and linked to, your own. This is the only way to fulfil the prophecy if he is to take your place as Voldemort's defeater."

" _Give_ to me…?" Harry was confused and unsettled. "Can't it be someone else?" He felt no guilt for asking.

"It cannot." The Headmaster stood from his seat and walked over to Fawkes' perch to pet the phoenix' golden feathers. "The spell I mentioned is exceedingly rare and not something to be cast on just anyone. Severus is my gift to you, and if you do not trust my offering, then you do not trust me."

Harry sat in dumbfounded silence, having no idea what to think anymore. He looked again at the dark man at his side, but Snape did not return the gaze. He was staring fixedly ahead of him, a deep furrow between his eyes.

When Dumbledore turned back to Harry, his eyes and voice had softened. "Unfortunately, Harry," he said, "There is no time to dwell on the ifs and buts. To accomplish our goal, we must act tonight. I am presenting you the opportunity of being released from your lot. Will you take it?"

There was silence in the room for the longest time yet. A silver and golden contraption of unknown application was whirring softly on the Headmaster's desk, and Harry's eyes remained fixated on the spinning wheels. Out of the corner of his eye, he could faintly detect that Fawkes was eating a biscuit out of Dumbledore's hand. Snape remained silent and still, like an ominous black tower.

In the end, Harry nodded numbly. He'd trust Albus Dumbledore with his life, and he could not deny this opportunity, even if his rescuer was untrustworthy. Besides, wasn't it only right, that Snape, the Death Eater and accomplice to the murder of Harry's godfather, should be the one to risk his life instead of Harry, who really was nothing but an innocent victim? He rubbed his clammy hands on the thighs of his trousers, wishing for Hermione's quick-witted support. There were probably a million questions he should have asked, but the words just seemed to elude him.

"Very well." Dumbledore brought out his wand. "Now, the spell I am going to cast was used to bind slaves in the twelfth century. It goes under the name of ' _In Servitum Redigo'_ , and it will link the two of you together, as I have explained. As there are no recent records of its use, I am unsure of exactly what you will experience, but there will most likely be a sensation of the bond being formed."

"Oh…" The spell sounded decidedly ominous. He looked at Snape again, expecting to receive a poisonous glare, but the man's face was so blank that it made Harry wonder if he was occluding. He turned back to Dumbledore. "So…what exactly does that mean?"

"It means, Harry," said the Headmaster. "That as a by-product of this spell, you will have some… authority over Professor Snape." He thought for a moment. "As our goal is to recruit the Professor's help with a minimum of disadvantage to his own integrity, I want your word that you will not abuse this power. This matter is of such importance that I would normally request that you to take a wand-oath. However, this particular bond will not allow any clauses, and takes supremacy in any case. I implore you though, Harry, to be wary of your conscience."

"Of course, Sir."

"Good. Now, I suggest you both stand up."

They stood from their chairs, and Harry and Snape faced Dumbledore, who made a large arch with his wand. Powerful magic, unknown to Harry, coursed through the room as he chanted.

" _Hoc erit signum quod vinculum_."

He pointed the tip of his wand at Snape.

" _Et servus._ "

Light coursed from Dumbledore's wand, hitting Snape squarely in the chest. The man made a startled grunt, and sank, to Harry's great surprise, down on his knees. The Headmaster faltered for a brief moment, and then pointed his wand at Harry.

" _Dominum suum_."

Apart form a warm glow in his chest where the spell had hit, Harry felt nothing. But Snape's hand jerked to his throat, as though he felt pain there, and he began struggling to loosen his stiff collar.

Where the pale skin became exposed, they could see a golden chain of light encircling his neck. It shimmered for a moment, and then seemed to settle into the skin and become less intense. By the time the glow had faded, the mark was a permanent brand, and Snape was panting heavily. Beads of sweat had formed on his sallow face, and had it been anyone else, Harry would have named the expression on his face to be fear. He turned to Dumbledore in question, but the aged wizard was focusing intently on the Potion's Master.

"Severus…?" The Headmaster's voice was brittle, and for the first time since Harry had known him, he sounded and looked his age.

It seemed to take an effort for Snape to collect himself, but in the end, he got to his feet and nodded his head at Dumbledore. "It's alright, Headmaster." He sounded hoarse. "I'm fine."

"Sit, my boy." Dumbledore took Snape's arm, indicating the nearest chair, but the man merely shook him off.

"Don't," he huffed, doing up his collar. "I'm _fine_." His voice was more familiar now, and for some reason, Harry exhaled a sigh.

"If you say so…" The Headmaster regarded Snape with scepticism, and then turned to Harry. "Harry, it is done. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess..." He looked back at Snape, with the desire to understand what had happened, but the man refused to meet his gaze. Harry shifted his feet, uncomfortable with the oppressing atmosphere. He needed time to think, and more importantly, to speak to Hermione and Ron.

"Alright, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Now I want you to be mindful of what I said before. During your classes with Professor Snape, it is important that you follow the directions he gives on the board, because he will be unable to act towards you as a regular student. He cannot dock points, assign detentions, or even raise his voice against you. For this reason, your behaviour in his class must be exemplary from this point on. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor," said Harry automatically, but his mind was elsewhere. Gaze locked onto the back of Snape's greasy head, he realised that he might not need to worry so much as he had thought. Yes, Snape was a Death Eater, and likely a traitor, but now it seemed, he was also bound to Harry's command. Which meant that _he_ would be able to make sure that Snape couldn't betray them. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

"Good," continued Dumbledore. "We will speak more when you have made another attempt at retrieving Professor Slughorn's memory. Now, I must send you back to your dormitory, as it is already past curfew, and I am sure you are eager to see your friends."

"Yes, Sir." Harry nodded, gathering his bag. He almost felt dizzy from all that had happened, and knew he wasn't going to get any sleep that night. Fortunately, it was the weekend tomorrow, and he didn't have to face Snape again until Monday.

"Goodnight Harry." The Headmaster waved his wand, and the door to the spiral staircase opened. "Severus, please remain. There are several things we need to discuss."

With one final glance at his teacher turned slave, Harry hesitantly left the office.


	4. To See a Boat in Sail

When the door closed behind Potter's back, Severus finally allowed himself to sink back into his chair. He felt clammy, and his heart was beating as though he had run a mile, and it wasn't only from the panic he had felt when Dumbledore's magic had forced him to his knees with an irresistible strength.

He closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to control his breathing. He knew Dumbledore was watching him with grandfatherly concern, but at the moment, it was difficult to prevent his weakness from showing.

The bonding spell had been unlike anything he had ever felt before, which was saying something, because he had been cursed with his a fair share of spells throughout the years. It had been completely different from being branded by the Dark Lord.

Back then, he had been an arrogant, selfish little shite with an obsession for the Dark Arts, and had willingly abandoned his soul to the devil in him. He had _wanted_ the brand that forever since had been a black stain on his left arm, and upon his soul. He had felt honoured, that _he_ , a half-blood, was talented enough for one of the most powerful and influential wizards alive to deem him worthy.

But oh, how that triumph had turned to ashes before his feet, and how the mighty now had fallen. He could only hope, that by taking this new brand, the one he felt around his neck as clearly as though he wore a leash, could put right the wrong he had once done.

He had never expected to walk out of this office unmarked. He was no longer naïve, and had known from the moment the Headmaster had explained to him this old magic, that he would never be quite the same.

He could feel it, as he sat there quietly, as a dull pain behind his temples. It was difficult to ignore, and made him feel slightly unwell, but just now, he didn't have the heart to tell Dumbledore…

Hopefully, it would fade with time, as he grew more used to it. And if it didn't… well, he would just have to make sure that they could put an end to this war as soon as possible.

"Iggle!"

Severus opened his eyes to see a small Elf pop into view at the Headmaster's side.

"Refreshments, please, Iggle." Dumbledore sat behind his desk. "I daresay we require something with which to strengthen ourselves."

The tiny creature returned within seconds, putting a tray with tea and biscuits on the desk. Instead of popping straight back to the kitchens though, as the Elves usually preferred, he lingered by the Headmaster's chair, watching Severus curiously with large, clear eyes.

"Thank you, Iggle," said Dumbledore, and the Elf bowed, but remained boldly standing as he were. As the silence stretched on, Severus raised his eyebrows in silent question.

"It is no Elf," said Iggle, and Severus exchanged a surprised glance with the Headmaster. It was a very peculiar thing to say, but it was also very rare for the little creatures to forget themselves and fail to address the staff as anything other than 'Master', or 'Sir'.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Dumbledore kindly.

"Iggle means, Headmaster," squeaked Iggle nervously, seeming to struggle for words "that the Potions' Master, Severus Snape, is owned by the little Master Harry Potter, which is odd. It is not one of us."

The blood in Severus' veins ran ice cold, and as he looked into Dumbledore's wide eyes, he knew that they were thinking the same thing: If Iggle could tell that Severus was a slave, so could the other Elves at Hogwarts. And any other Elves he might meet…

"Dumbledore…" croaked Severus. "What…?"

The Headmaster stood. "Iggle," he said urgently, "that information must remain a secret; it is a matter of life and death. This is an order, and I ask you to convey the message to all of the elves at Hogwarts. _No one_ can know what Severus is." He rubbed a hand over his face and started to pace. "This is unfortunate indeed. We must find a way to…"

He stopped and once again turned to the Elf. "Iggle, how do you know this?"

"By the magic, of course," the little creature said. "And the golden chain around its neck."

Dumbledore studied Severus' throat for a long moment, then closed the distance between them.

"Severus, stand."

He did as he was told, folding his hands in front of him to conceal the tremble there. The aged wizard placed his hands around Severus' neck and closed his eyes. After a moment, he moved his hands to Severus' left arm, just above the Dark Mark.

"Severus, what magic do you sense?"

Severus closed his eyes in turn, concentrating hard. It was a difficult endeavour; he did not have the magical power that Dumbledore possessed, but in the end, he answered.

"Yours, Headmaster… The Elf… And Harry Potter."

They were standing face to face, and Dumbledore looked him straight in the eye. "Can you feel Tom Riddle at all?"

Severus extended his magic along the familiar pathway that would allow him to apparate to the Dark Lord's side. It was there, undeniably present, as it had been for the last twenty years, yet it was less compelling than it had been in the past.

"Yes. But weaker somehow."

"Good..." Dumbledore nodded to himself. "I cannot detect the presence of the Elves… Remarkable." He stroked his beard. "Neither could I detect that you have changed allegiance, which is fortunate. It means that the same is probably true for Tom. As for the Elves…"

They both turned towards Iggle the House Elf, who withstood their scrutiny with admirable courage.

"If Iggle may speak, Headmaster?" he said, and Dumbledore motioned for him to continue. "The Elves will not cause any problems for the slave, Master. It is not their place to stick their noses into wizard's business."

"Yet here you are…" The Headmaster's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles.

Iggle wrung his little hands together, ears drooping. "Iggle is a bad Elf… Daisy says that Iggle has the curiosity of nine cats, and the boldness of a lion." He seemed thoroughly ashamed at the characterisation. "Daisy is right. Iggle will put his feet in the stove, Headmaster."

Dumbledore held up a hand. "There is no need for that. You did well… Now, Iggle, tell us," said the Headmaster, and the creature's large ears once again perked upwards, "The magic that binds Severus, is it similar to that which binds the Elves to their Masters?"

Iggle looked slightly affronted. "The Elves do not have chains, Headmaster," he said, as though that was apparent. "We are not slaves." He looked quizzically at Severus. "Does it know why it has pain?" he asked.

Being referred to in the third-person singular of an inanimate object was quickly becoming tiresome, and Severus opened his mouth to scold the little cretin. Dumbledore, though, beat him to it.

"No. Why is that?"

"It has displeased its Master," said Iggle, a frown on his thin face. "It has been a bad slave, like Iggle is a bad Elf, Sir. It should put its hands in the stove. Iggle does not think that the feet will fit. They are too big"

"Very well, Iggle," said Dumbledore wearily. "You may leave. Remember to convey my message."

"Yes, Headmaster," squeaked Iggle, and was gone.

In the silence that followed the Elf's departure, Dumbledore calmly prepared their tea, while Severus sat deep in thought, watching Fawkes sleep on his perch. The headache that had begun the moment Potter left the room had not worsened, yet it had not abated either.

He sighed. The events of the day had quite worn him out, and the two sleepless nights in a row was beginning to take their toll. He would need to restock his supply of invigoration draught if the Headmaster was intent on running him this hard. Then again, he only got what he deserved, didn't he. What a relief it would be, when all was said and done, and he could rest in the end…

"Severus, what do you know about Horcruxes?"

The question caught him off-guard, and for a moment, he stared blankly at his mentor, unable to comprehend the importance of what he had just had been told. Then, a chill went down his spine at the horrible implications.

"Has he really done it?" He whispered. As far as Severus knew, the magic was only theoretical, and the only source he had on the subject was from loose rumours that circulated amongst the Death Eaters. "I didn't think it was possible…?"

"Oh, but it is," said Dumbledore, "and if my suspicions prove accurate, he might have several."

"Several…?" The thought was terrifying. Slowly, Severus felt his hope for a speedy end of the war crumble to dust. He bowed his head, so that his hair would conceal the despair that he was too weary to keep from showing on his face.

"I have given Harry a mission," Dumbledore continued, "to retrieve a certain memory from Horace. When he manages this task, we will know for certain." Feeling a presence at his side, Severus looked up to see that the Headmaster was standing next to his chair, extending a steaming cup of strong tea. He accepted it gratefully.

"For now, Severus, I think we should act as though the Horcruxes are real. I have not previously dared to inform you of this, but now that you are…" Dumbledore trailed off, and rephrased, "As of tonight, I think it is safe. The bond between yourself and Harry will be stronger than your link to Tom, and in any case, you will be incapable of revealing any of Harry's secrets, even under… duress."

They both knew that what the Headmaster had meant to say, but Severus refrained from commenting. Truthfully, it was a relief that he could now withstand torture, although it meant that he would suffer greatly if his treason was discovered. At least he could give nothing away, even if his occlumency shields were compromised. He nodded for his mentor to continue.

"You must try to gain any information that you can," said Dumbledore. "Talk to the other Death Eaters. Especially those he favours at the moment. I do not need to remind you to keep the outmost discretion... We are looking for artefacts, something that would be of significance to Tom. And Severus,"

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"I want you to keep an eye out for Nagini."

Severus swallowed, disgusted. "Do you think that _she_ …?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "It is a possibility that we cannot afford to overlook. She is his familiar, and one of the few things we know for certain that he is attached to."

"That will not be easy…"

"I know, Severus." The Headmaster looked down on him kindly. "Nothing will be easy from here on out. But we must prevail. In your position, you have an invaluable opportunity to get a hold of the information that we seek so desperately. Try to get close to the snake, see if you can sense anything untoward about her. She seems unusually sentient for a creature…"

"I agree," said Severus quietly. "There is definitely more to her than meets the eye."

He leaned back in his chair, resting his head for a moment to relieve the throbbing behind his temples.

Dawn was approaching, and he did not look forward to what the new day would bring. Lucius was still imprisoned, so his best move was perhaps to call on Narcissa at the Manor. He might go under the guise of discussing Draco's deteriorating grades…

"I will let you retire, Severus. It is getting rather late, or perhaps I should say early..." The Headmaster's voice put a stop to his wool gathering, and he straightened. The aged wizard was standing next to his chair, regarding him with concern. "You do not look so well… Is there anything I can…?

He shook his head, getting up. "No. I just need to rest."

"Very well." The Headmaster frowned. "I think you should be wary of upsetting this bond, Severus. Keep your interactions with Harry to a minimum, and try not to upset him."

"My very existence upsets him, Headmaster."

"Well, you cannot blame that on the boy alone." Dumbledore sighed, and continued in a more level voice. "Come see me immediately if you encounter any problems, Severus... Or if you discover something…"

"I will." He stood, impatient to be alone.

"Goodnight, old friend. And good luck."

Severus took his leave, and retreated to his quarters in the Dungeon. There, he fell mindlessly into bed, not even bothering to remove his clothes, and he was so exhausted, that he did not wake until well past noon the next day.

He spent Saturday afternoon redoubling his efforts with Dumbledore's potion, but as usual, his toil was fruitless. Developing such a cure would have been the life's work of a skilled potioneer, and he only had some months, at best. He did not even consider going to Slughorn for aid; the man was talented enough, but in good company, he tended to be untrustworthy. They could not risk the news of Dumbledore's illness to become a late-night topic at the Three Broomsticks.

His head was still hurting, and after having a solitary dinner in his quarters, Severus donned his cape, and walked to the Forbidden Forest. Once outside of the school's wards, he apparated to Penwith upon Lands' End.

The shore here was a combination of rocky cliffs, and white sand; a striking barrier that separated the safe land from the ocean. It was less impressive than the cliffs of Dover, yet wilder, and the sea here was not punctuated by land on the other side, but stretched on to the horizon, seeming infinite in its vastness.

It had a special place in his heart, and he would go here when he needed to remember the time before his downfall. It had been a time of innocence, and of the joys of youth, and it reminded him of the life that could have been, had he not strayed away from the narrow path.

He closed his eyes, allowing the southerly wind to caress his face, taking in the salty tang of the sea.

Lily's parents had owned a cottage here, and they had brought him along on their holiday the summer before they went to Hogwarts. He had been eleven years old, and had seen the ocean for the first time… The world had seemed as though it was laid out before his feet, ready for the taking.

They had spent a week in the old cottage, fishing from the cliffs, and throwing rocks into the waves. He could still remember the cool, smooth feel of them in his small, yet un-callused hands.

Lily had kissed his cheek…

And he had seen a boat in sail, riding the waves like a giant white seagull.

He had wanted nothing more than to get onto that boat, and let it carry him wherever the wind would blow. But when he had told Lily so, she had not understood, and was fearful of the dark, relentless sea….

He had agreed with her, of course: He always did, ever so eager to please her. But secretly, the dream had never let go of him, and so he would come here, even now, to turn his gaze outward. Waiting - to see white sails on the horizon.

But alas, there were no boats today. And he did not know whether he would ever get a chance to return.

When he had looked his fill, and the pitiless tasks of his present life came to the forefront of his mind, he called upon his magic and transformed into a shifting, black smoke, taking the next step of his journey in the manner of the Death Eaters.

He resumed his usual form when the pointed towers of Malfoy Manor came into view, and walked the narrow gravel lane, breaching the wards by presenting the Dark Mark that marred his left arm.

Then, he occluded his mind.

At the door, he was greeted by an elderly female Elf.

"Ninky." He inclined his head, wary of her reaction. "Please inform the Mistress that Master Snape is here to see her."

She seemed to hesitate, obviously confused. "Ninky will do as you say… _Master_."

Severus breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Ninky."

She seemed to understand what his gratitude was for, and curtsied.

"Come inside, Master. You arrive quite timely. The Mistress and her sister are in the Library, and…" She looked up at him with fearful eyes, lowering her voice. "The Master of Snakes is away…"

She led him to a room in the left wing, where Narcissa and Bella were nursing a glass of Sherry in a deep sofa by the window. Seeing him, Narcissa jumped to her feet with a look of instant worry on her finely carved features.

"Severus." She automatically extended her hand, and he bent to kiss it lightly. "What a surprise…"

"Narcissa, Bella. How are you?"

She glanced briefly at her sister, who remained seated. "Fine… I'm fine. And yourself?"

"I am well, Narcissa," he lied smoothly.

"Where are my manners?" She poured a glass, pointing him in the direction of a chair. "Come. Sit. Have a drink. How are things at Hogwarts?"

Severus gratefully accepted a tumbler of fine old Ogden's from the Malfoy's well-stocked cellar, and nodded his thanks. "Nothing untoward, Narcissa. I'm here to see you about Dracos' grades. I was hoping you could speak to him. He is becoming careless, and has problems with keeping up in his classes. I fear that the other teachers, and Dumbledore, might notice that something is amiss…"

Bellatrix snorted through her nose. "Haven't you tiered from licking that old man's boots yet, Severus?" she asked disdainfully. "Or have you perhaps become so comfortable with sitting on your arse, coddling children all day, that that you quite enjoy playing the good little pet?"

Already, here was the opportunity he needed. Severus chose his next words carefully. "The Dark Lord is very pleased with my work, Bella," he said calmly. "Or perhaps you haven't noticed? If you don't watch out, I'll be his closest confidante…" He looked her in the eye, careful to allow a sliver of hope filter through his shields. "I imagine it won't take long, I haven't seen _you_ doing anything useful as of late..."

Bella merely cackled a laugh, unfazed. "Oh, poor little Sevvy," she said. "You don't know anything about whom our Master trusts, do you? You men are all so self-important… poor dears, you're practically blind."

"And just what is _that_ supposed to mean," he said with false disbelief. "The Dark Lord trusts me to spy on his worst enemy. He hasn't trusted _you_ with anything but the occasional raid, and really, he could give that task to Wormtail, and no one would notice a difference."

"Oh, I have more important tasks than you will ever know…"

Bellatrix' occlumency was better than that of most of the Death Eaters, but even through her shields, Severus could detect her unwavering conviction. There was a security in her emotions that seemed to stem from something that was connected to love, and fear, and pride…

Bella had a secret. And it had something to do with the Dark Lord.

Severus knew that somehow, he needed to get into Lestrange's Manor.

 **A/N**

 **I had not expected that anyone would be interested in this fic at all, and was very nervous about it, so I'm extremely grateful for your wonderful response. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!**

 **It got its inspiration from a story by Keina Snape, which is called 'All the way from hell'. Unfortunately, it only have 6 chapters, but you'll not regret reading them. It's infinitely better than my old drivel. You'll find it in my favourite list.**

 **Oddly, it is also quite heavily inspired by the children's television show 'In the Night Garden'. If I can manage to keep your interest, you will understand why later…**

 **I'm having so much fun writing this story. The ending chapter is already complete, but there is still quite a while to go before that, and we haven't even seen Snape and Harry interact yet. If you have suggestions or any other input, I'm excited to hear about it.**

 **The elfish way of speech is just impossible to write for a foreigner like me. Sorry about that. Feel free to add internally the stuttering, squeaking, and impossibly backwards grammar at your leisure.**

 **Iggle and Daisy** **are named after IgglePiggle and Upsy Daisy from The Night Garden, and Poor Ninky got her name from the Ninky Nonk.**


	5. Just a Confused Little Lad

At breakfast the next morning, Harry was no less shaken than he'd been the previous evening. When he'd returned to the Gryffindor common room after leaving Dumbledore's office, Ron and Hermione had already gone to bed, and without the outlet of speaking to his friends, Harry's thoughts had spun in circles for hours. Consequently, he'd got very little sleep.

Ever since Sirius' death, he had thought of Snape with nothing but contempt and hatred in his heart. He was certain that Snape's goading had been a major reason for why his Godfather joined the fight at the Department of Mysteries, and really, he expected nothing less from a person so vindictive and petty.

Snape had made his own hatred for Harry known long before he'd had any idea why he was being treated this way, and it had been trying as an eleven-year old, to have one of his teachers make him feel so unwelcome in the wizarding world.

And all because Harry's father, a person he did not even know, had bullied Snape as a child…

But the worst part of it, and it really bothered him, was Snape's utter lack of remorse. Never once had he shown any regret for bullying Harry, in fact, it had only got worse as he grew older. And Sirius… Harry was certain that Snape was glad that he was dead. It was singular proof that at heart, Snape was not a good person.

And now, to have such a treacherous snake bound to him… It made him feel ill at ease.

Harry picked listlessly at his meal. Hermione was trying to engage him in a conversation on the fine distinction between the water-making spell and the extinguishing charm, but he wasn't really listening. Unable to finish his breakfast, he kept casting surreptitious looks at the Head Table, but Snape hadn't yet shown up.

"Harry!"

He snapped his head back at Hermione, who was frowning at him, seemingly annoyed. "What?"

"You're staring," she hissed. "He's starting to notice."

"Who?" Harry glanced towards the side entrance next to the teacher's table, half expecting to see a billowing black cape.

"Professor Slughorn, of course." She pulled on his sleeve to make him turn back around. "You've been staring at him this entire time. What's wrong?" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Did Dumbledore tell you anything new yesterday?"

"Oh." In the chair next to Snape's usual one, Professor Slughorn was giving him a sharp eye, grey tufts of hair sticking out around his bald crown. "Oh, right…" Harry waved at the man apologetically. "No… I mean, yes, he did actually, but we better not… err, can't we go someplace else?"

"Sure." She sighed, and looked over at Ron, who was eating toast with sausage. "Ron. Breakfast is over." She nudged him.

"Uh, watch it!" Ron startled, and barely rescued a glass of pumpkin juice that had threatened to fall over. Apparently, he hadn't paid any more attention to Hermione's charms lecture than Harry had. "What's so urgent?"

She picked the toast out of Ron's hand bossily while Harry snickered. "Harry has something to tell us," she whispered. "It has to do with you-know-what…"

They left the table, and Hermione led them to a deserted tower near the Charms classroom. There were several open arches in the wall here and there, and the chilly spring air was fresh, and cleared Harry's head pleasantly. They cast warming charms before settling down on the bottom of a staircase.

"So what did you and Dumbledore discuss?" Hermione was watching him eagerly, leaning forward on her elbows, but Harry had no idea where to begin.

"Actually, it wasn't really a discussion as much as a monologue…" Remembering her campaign to free the House Elves, he felt wary of her reaction. "Erm… you know how the prophecy mentioned that either I was the one who had to kill Voldemort, or he…" He trailed off, and Hermione nodded emphatically.

" _Neither one can live while the other one survives_. Yes, we remember. What about it?"

"Well, Dumbledore said he'd done some research, and found a way for someone else to defeat him."

Her jaw dropped, and Ron' eyes went wide as saucers.

"That's brilliant! How?" Ron was the first to recover.

"Well, he performed this spell," stuttered Harry, "and I guess… well, basically he said he'd give Snape to me, like a gift, so that in the end… well, so that _he_ can do it."

Harry could have dropped a needle in the silence that followed. Ron blinked several times. Hermione looked as though she was sorting through the endless questions that surely raced around her mind…

"Snape?" Ron said, incredulously.

"A gift?" Hermione was frowning. "What is that supposed to mean? As though Professor Snape is _his_ to give away?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I guess…"

"That's strange," said Ron, "but I don't think it's a good idea at all... Snape's a _Death Eater_ …"

"Professor Snape is an Order member," said Hermione firmly. "And Dumbledore trusts him. I think this is the best idea I've heard for ages, actually. It's about time that someone takes the pressure off of Harry. And Snape's in the perfect position to surprise Voldemort, _and_ he's trained in the Dark Arts. If anyone apart from Dumbledore would have a chance in that duel, it's got to be him."

"Wait… There's more," said Harry, and Hermione and Ron looked at each other in silent confusion. Fidgeting with a loose thread on his trouser, Harry searched for the right words. Everything had sounded so logical when Dumbledore explained it to him, but now, in the light of day…

"What was the spell, Harry?" Hermione's voice was gentle now, and he looked up to see the concern in her eyes.

"It was called…" He searched his mind, trying to remember. " _Servitum Redigo…_ Or something along those lines. It is supposed to bind him to me… Like a servant…"

"To bring into subjection…" whispered Hermione, who had the most knowledge of Latin. Abruptly, she stood and started towards the stairs. "Well, do come along," she huffed impatiently. "We obviously need the library."

They managed to sneak Hermione into the Restricted Section by distracting Madam Pince with a book that Ron had borrowed, which had several stains from pumpkin juice spills on it. The cantankerous librarian worked herself into a fine snit of temper, and by the time Ron and Harry were finally able to make their escape, Ron's ears were redder than the hair on his head from the scolding he'd got.

"This better be worth it," he grumbled, as they made it to one of the study tables at the very back of the room. Fortunately, being rather early on a Saturday morning, there were no other students around.

"What did you find, Hermione?" Harry eyed the large tome under her arm nervously.

"I couldn't find anything on the spell you mentioned…" The disappointment was clear in her voice. "Either, it's very rare, or the books are deliberately not kept where the students might find them… Do you know anything about slavery in the wizarding world?"

The question was directed at Ron, who shook his head. "'Course not," he said. "It was abolished in the 18th century wasn't it?"

"Yes…" She laid out a black leather-bound book on a desk, and quickly leafed through the pages. "This book has a chapter on the history of slavery in the medieval ages…" She started to skim the pages with astonishing swiftness. "It mentions the legalities involved… how slaves couldn't own anything of their own, and were seen as the property of their Masters... and here," She quoted from the text, "the geasan of a slave demanded complete obedience, and hence, the slave could not be prosecuted by a court of law…"

"What does that mean?" Ron asked. "Can Harry order Snape around or something?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Hermione said. "Though it doesn't say how it works..." She read some more. "The magic is said to overrule any other bonds or oaths the slave might take… Harry, that means he can break the unbreakable vow…"

He'd nearly forgotten about that detail… "Yeah, I know… Oh! Do you think _that's_ why Dumbledore wanted him to take this bond?" The thought made him feel slightly better. Maybe Dumbledore suspected Snape after all, and the spell hadn't been just for Harry's sake…

"Maybe…" She didn't sound convinced, and leafed through a few more pages thoughtfully. "I still wonder what hold Dumbledore has over Snape, to make him do something like this. They have quite an unusual relationship, don't they? It's a rather brutal thing to do… I wonder what made him go along with it?"

"Dumbledore saved Snape's neck by keeping him from ending up in Azkaban, didn't he?" Harry said. "That's a huge favour in my book."

"I know, but still…" Her eyes skimmed another paragraph. "To sell a slave requires that the bond is transmitted to the new owner, and the price is settled according to the slave's age, health, and physical shape…"

Ron snorted. "Snape would go cheap then…"

"This isn't funny, Ron!" Hermione smacked his arm. "But in a way I suppose you're right... I don't think slaves lived very long, and Snape's what? Forty?"

"Well, he looks older, doesn't he," said Harry, "but he'll be the same age as my parents. They were in school together, so that'll make him… thirty-seven, I guess…"

Hermione nodded. "There is no way to free the slave," she continued, "unless the Master dies without an heir…"

"So if Snape kills Harry…?" Ron sobered.

"No, Ron." interrupted Hermione. "It is impossible for a slave to hurt their Master in any way. The geasan will kill a disobedient slave. It is listed here as a legal reason to prosecute the seller if a new Master is not satisfied with his purchase…"

"You know, Harry," said Ron, "I think you should talk to Snape. If you order him not to betray us, he won't be able to…"

"Yeah… though I'd rather not face him at all…"

"Eventually, you'll have to." Hermione said, closing the black book. "We have Defence on Monday…"

Harry spent the rest of the weekend trying to distract himself with Quidditch practice, and hanging out with Ginny. He had decided to do as Dumbledore had asked, and not tell her of the bond, and though it felt in some way like a betrayal, it was a great relief to only talk about the normal stuff, for as long as it would last.

At night, though, he was restless and tense. On top of his problems with Voldemort, and Malfoy, and getting Slughorn's memory, he now had to deal with being bonded to a man he'd seen as his enemy from the moment they had met.

The relief he'd felt when Dumbledore had told him he didn't have to face Voldemort had shattered when he learned who was going to take his place. But at the moment, that wasn't his biggest concern. Harry could get used to the fact that Snape would be the one to duel Voldemort. He could get used to the fact that he would have to trust Dumbledore's judgement, and if given time, could probably accept that Snape was unable to betray them. He could even get used to the fact that he'd have to cooperate with the man to some extent, to end Voldemort's reign.

But that Snape, along with everything the man owned, were _his_ , to do with as he pleased…

It didn't feel _real_.

The Defence lesson the following Monday had felt like a dance around disaster.

Harry had chosen a seat at the very back of class, wanting to stay as far away from Snape as possible. Not that he was afraid of the man anymore, or thought that Snape would have the guts to bully him after what had happened... But mindful of the black book Hermione had found, and of the Headmaster's words, he opted for keeping a low profile.

Snape had set them to work quietly on an essay, and had retreated behind the teacher's desk, burying his crooked nose deeply in an old book of some sort. The class knew not to ask him any questions when he was in one of his moods, and everything had seemed to go so well, until only ten minutes remained of the double lesson…

Snape had snapped his book shut, and stood to look down on the class imperiously.

"Before you leave, I want your cruciatus essays," he drawled. "Bring them to my desk, and I'll hand you back the ones on the Imperius curse." He gave a long-suffering sigh. "You may not be so pleased. They gave me quite the headache to correct."

The class got to their feet, but Harry stalled, making sure he'd be one of the last to arrive at the front desk. With all that had happened over the last few days, he'd completely forgotten to do his homework, and now, a cold dread filled his stomach. Snape would surely think that he was taking advantage of the situation…

At last, when he couldn't delay it any longer, he walked up front with heavy steps, making sure to stay close on Hermione's heels.

After handing Hermione a scroll with a large scrawled E on it, Snape held out the Imperius essay for Harry to take. "Acceptable, Potter," he said curtly. "You failed to discuss the ramifications of a poorly cast spell. I expect more from you."

He met the black eyes of his teacher over the desk.

"Your cruciatus essay please, Potter." Snape's voice was slightly subdued, and Harry fidgeted.

"Erm… I don't have it…"

Snape sighed through his nose, seeming to grow annoyed. "Why am I not surprised?" he said, in his usual cold voice. "Perhaps you think yourself above the…" The man trailed off, bowing his head slightly and squinting, as though he were in pain.

"I'm really sorry," said Harry. "But everything was just… well you know… and it completely slipped my mind."

Snape took a deep breath. "Five points from…" But he never finished the sentence.

Harry stared at his teacher with wide eyes. He was extremely pale, and on the table top, his large, callused hand was trembling…

After a moment, Snape leaned back, his gaze searching the classroom warily, as though to make sure that no one were watching. "Dismissed," he panted, with an evident effort, indicating for Harry to leave.

It was a singular experience, to see Snape behave in this way, but the man didn't have to tell him twice. Quickly, Harry walked off the dais and started to pack his bag. Snape sat there watching him for a while, before he too stood, and turned away.

Harry felt someone gently touch his arm.

"You should stay behind, Harry," Hermione whispered. "Ask him how he's doing…"

" _What_?" hissed Harry. "Are you insane? He'll eat the head off my shoulders!"

"Think, Harry." She pushed him slightly, in the direction of the man whose back was turned as he cleared off the blackboard. "He obviously can't. You should ask him what just happened. I think it's your duty to do so, all things considered…"

The uncomfortable feeling in Harry's stomach told him that Hermione was probably right. And so he lingered a while longer, waiting until all of the other students were gone from the classroom. Then, he walked up to the dais, watching the slave's back as he wrote new instructions for the next class on the board.

Snape put the chalk down, and turned around slowly as he brushed off his hands. "Mr. Potter?"

"I… Err… I wanted you to know that I didn't forget to do my homework on purpose…"

The man seemed tense, but looked down on Harry in sceptical disdain. "Oh, really?"

"I just forgot. With all that's been going on I…"

"I don't need your shambling explanations, Potter." Snape snapped. "Just do your homework, and leave me be."

Harry decided to push his luck. "What happened back then? Why did you act so weirdly?"

Snape scowled hatefully even though it seemed to cause him physical pain to do so.

"Is it because of the bond? Because you tried to take points off me?"

"Get… out, Potter! I'm warning y… Ahh!" Unable to finish the threat, Snape fell down on his knees.

Surprised, and a little frightened, Harry looked down on the bent head with the greasy black hair. Snape's face was pale and drawn, and the deep frown line between his eyes went almost half-way up his forehead.

"Wha… What's wrong?" Stuttered Harry. "Why are you in pain?" He did not know what to do or how to act. He had no idea how to help Snape, but he knew he couldn't just leave the man like this…

"Stop it. You…" Snape cradled his head, groaning. There was a trail of something dark beneath his hands.

"You're bleeding!" Alarmed, Harry rushed to the Professor's side. He was breathing laboriously, and from his crooked nose trickled a trail of fresh blood.

"Hold still. I'm getting Madame Pomfrey…"

Snape batted his hands away. "No. Wait." Wiping his nose with a handkerchief, he seemed to make an effort to compose himself.

"I think you need the hospital," said Harry uncertainly. The situation was surreal, but he couldn't deny feeling a slight curiosity towards the man who knelt at his feet, and towards the magical bond between them, which seemed to have such a profound impact on Snape…

"No, Mr. Po…" Snape sighed heavily. "Master… Give me a moment. Please."

Harry's jaw dropped, and judging from how his cheeks were burning, he must have gone beet red in the face. The implications of the spell that Dumbledore had cast hadn't truly impacted themselves upon him until Snape uttered that impossible word.

For a moment, neither spoke, as Harry tried to understand what was happening, and Snape stayed on the ground, attempting to control his breathing. Then, a sound in the hallway outside of the classroom door jolted Harry into action.

"We can't stay here," he said urgently. "Your next class is about to arrive…"

The teacher nodded. "My office then."

Snape made to climb to his feet, and without asking permission, Harry rushed to his side, taking one of his slave's arms over his shoulder, and supporting him by locking his arm around the man's waist.

Snape was tall, and rather heavy, and Harry struggled to support his weight as they made their way through the arched door that led to the Potion Master's office.

"Thank you," muttered Snape as he dropped into the chair behind his desk, looking oddly diminished.

Harry was not a boy who enjoyed seeing other people's suffering. He'd suffered too much in his own short life to take pleasure from the pain of others. Dudley and his gang had hunted him down multiple times. He'd been on the receiving end of Aunt Petunia's slaps and snipes, and had enough experience with the indignity of pain to know that it was the helplessness and humiliation that hurt the most. Discreetly, he turned his back as the slave wiped the blood off his nose and mouth.

Snape's new office was neither dark nor damp, and had a large arched window towards the Forbidden forest. But just like in the office he'd occupied in the Dungeons, there were rows upon rows of jars and flagons of innumerable potion ingredients on the shelves. Apparently, the man still brewed, even though he didn't teach the subject anymore. Half of the ingredients were unknown to Harry, and many were exceedingly revolting. In one jar was a shrivelled, translucent hide that made him think back to the Basilisk skin they had found down in Salazar Slytherin's secret chamber. He bent down to take a closer look.

"Boomslang skin," said a voice behind him, and Harry nearly started. "I should think you'd recognise _that_ …"

Harry straightened, unwilling to re-start the old discussion of 'who-stole-what from Snape's Private Stores'.

"Are you still in pain?" he asked instead, turning around to face the man.

Snape chuckled lowly, showing his crooked, yellow teeth, which were stained red from the blood. The sound was hollow and melancholic, and there was nothing joyful about it. Harry shuddered.

"I feel sorry for you, Potter…" Snape sighed. " _Master_. This is going to be harder than I thought..." Snape didn't seem angry anymore. Only tired, and in pain, and Harry was for the first time struck by the sacrifice this man had made.

"What is, Professor?"

"This. Having this… this bond between us. Hiding it for everyone." Snape swore. "I can't even do my job properly…"

Harry didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry…"

"It isn't your fault, you little…" Snape caught himself, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. Then he held out a hand. " _Accio_ headache draught." He downed the vial in one go.

"You're getting headaches from not calling me 'Master'?"

Snape inclined his head slightly. "And for not answering direct questions when you ask… And for wanting to throw you out of my classroom, arse first."

He looked up to search Harry's face. "I'd appreciate… Master, in the future, that you withhold any questions you may have for when we're in private. And you'll certainly make my life easier if you remember to do your homework…"

"I will. Of course I will…" From the book they had found, Harry already knew the answer to his next question, but he felt the need to ask regardless. "What happens if you don't obey the bond? Why were you bleeding?"

"If I don't obey, I'll die." Snape said curtly. "But that is none of your concern." He got up from his chair, looking better than he had before. "You should go, P… Master. Your next class is about to begin." He wrote something on a piece of parchment.

"How am I going to do that?"

"Do what?" Snape looked up, extending the note to Harry.

"Ask you questions?" He took the note. "I only see you during class..."

Snape looked confused. "Why would you want to…?" He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Very well, Master. My rooms are in the Dungeons, close by the Potions classroom. You'll find the door behind the tapestry with the ship on it. Talk to the white whale. If I'm there, he'll let you in…"

"Oh, alright. Thanks." Harry looked down on the parchment in his hand. It held Snape's slanted scrawl.

 _I detained Mr. Potter after class today, for failing to do his homework._

 _Professor S. Snape_

Harry smiled to himself at the tiny bit of normalcy written out in strict, black ink. At least some things remained the same… He looked up at the Professor to see the man study him.

"What?"

Snape shook his head, and bowed slightly. "Nothing, Master. You should hurry…"

…

Severus watched the door to his office close behind Potter's back, releasing a shuddering sigh of relief. The geasan had demanded that he pay his Master the proper respect, but the idea clashed violently with the five years of mutual dislike that they shared. At one point, Severus had been afraid, thinking that the bond would claim his life lest he obeyed. The throbbing at his temples and the nosebleeds were only but reminders…

But although he found the situation he was in to be difficult and undignified, Potter's reaction had surprised him. Had the boy been anything like his father, James, he would have been amused watching the suffering and humiliation of his enemy, the greasy Slytherin bastard. But the boy hadn't gloated. More than anything, he had actually seemed frightened, and even though he'd had difficulties concealing his curiosity, he had shown a modicum of respect for once, and stopped himself from staring like a bystander to a train wreck.

He really was just a confused little lad, and at least thus far, a long shot from the worst Master Severus had had in his life.

And for a moment, when the boy's lips had curved into a small smile when he read Severus' note, he'd seen again the ghost of his childhood friend…

He couldn't quite understand what had made him invite the boy to his rooms… Perhaps it was a geas of the bond, or perhaps he was merely tired of this feud between them. Maybe, as the end drew near, he sought the boy's forgiveness after all…

Severus shook himself. The thought was absurd. Potter would _never_ … And rightly so. No, he would work to earn his redemption in the shadows, as he had always done.

And may God have mercy on his soul…


	6. The Knight

To Severus' astonishment, it had not taken long for Potter to take him up on his offer.

The following Wednesday found him in the little kitchen in his quarters, which he used exclusively for brewing and as storage for some of the more delicate or volatile ingredients. He frequently did the work for the Infirmary here these days, along with his experiments on Dumbledore's potion, a habit he had indulged with increasing frequency since Slughorn had taken precedence of his old classroom.

He was working on Lupin's Wolfsbane, a chore he had performed monthly ever since the werewolf had returned to work with Dumbledore in the Order. He didn't mind this duty; the costly ingredients, which he could in no way afford on his teacher's salary, were provided by the school's budget, and deep down, it felt good to contribute something that few others could, even if the beneficiary was an old enemy.

He was just about to add the miniscule pieces of Valerian root when there was an unexpected knock on his door.

"Come," he called, and presuming it was the Headmaster, –it was very rare for anyone else to call on him- he kept up his work. The potion was not at a critical point, but he preferred to add the Valerian while they were still fleshly chopped.

"Oh," The juvenile voice nearly startled him. "I didn't know you wore glasses…"

Surprised, Severus looked over the rim of his reading glasses to see Potter standing uncertainly in the doorway.

He quickly removed the spectacles and bowed to appease the bond between them. When he straightened, his back cracked audibly, making the boy wince.

"Master."

Potter looked even more uncomfortable, and his gaze wandered around the room to avoid meeting Severus' eyes. He lingered on the pair of comfortable armchairs, and on the small padded footstool, where Severus' wand was laid casually atop a pile of worn books.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Did you expect a cave?" he said, guessing the boy's mind. He was not unaware of the rumours the students circulated about him, nor of the names they liked to call him behind his back.

"Of course not," said Potter quickly. "It's… nice."

Severus huffed discreetly. "Tea?"

"Huh?"

"Would you care for some tea?" repeated Severus with poorly concealed impatience. "I presume you're here because you want to discuss our… arrangement. I usually have tea at nine, and I'd rather not break the habit."

"Yeah," said Potter, fidgeting. "Yes, please. I mean, you're right. That's why I'm here…"

Severus called Daisy, an elderly Elf, who was of the less progressive kind than Iggle. After the conversation in Dumbledore's office, he'd come to learn that although the Elves never revealed the secret of the enslavement spell, quite a few of them had simply stopped taking orders from him after his change of status. The elder ones though, like Daisy, usually complied with his requests as an extension of the Headmaster's order, while simply keeping their reverence to a minimum.

This time though, Daisy ignored him completely in favour of bestowing all of her attention on Potter. "What does little Master want?" she squeaked, bowing deeply.

"Erm…" said Potter distractedly. He was still presumably processing the fact that Severus' quarters were indeed not a coffin. "Whatever the Professor usually has, I guess."

Daisy immediately disapparated, to reappear only seconds later with a tray of sandwiches and tea. "Thank you, Daisy," said Severus, but she never acknowledged his presence, and was gone from the room as soon as the boy had nodded his appreciation.

Potter seemed oblivious to the unusual interaction and was studying the tray curiously, eying the small slices of chocolate cake, which were Severus' favourite, with interest. Why was it that the students had such problems with envisioning their professors as ordinary people? Potter especially seemed tenacious in this regard. It was almost as though he didn't see adults as normal human beings at all. Though, when thinking about it, he had grown up with Petunia Evans as a guardian. If she was equally prissy and uptight as an adult as she had been as a child, perhaps this oddity could be excused…

"Have a seat, Master." Severus cleared his spare armchair of books and journals, and took his usual one for himself. He leaned back and stretched out his legs, which were weary from standing all day on the hard stone floor of his classroom.

They drank their tea and ate sandwiches in silence, until the boy put down his cup and turned to face Severus.

"Why did you say you were sorry for me?"

"What?" Severus frowned, unable to recall the details of their previous conversation.

"You said it, last time. When we talked of the… spell, you said you felt sorry for _me_. Why?"

"Oh, that." Yes, he might have said something along those lines, in his fit of black humour when the power of their bond had overwhelmed him. Potter was as bound in this case as he was, due to the terrible prophecy, and because of Severus' own folly…

"I suppose I meant to say that we have an impossible task ahead of us."

Potter's face fell. "Yeah, I suppose we do… How are you going to do it then?"

"Do what?"

"Duel Voldemort."

Severus flinched, and Potter frowned, looking slightly annoyed.

The boy, of course, was oblivious to the fact that Severus wasn't going to duel the Dark Lord at all, but fully intended to let himself be destroyed. Considering the boy's history of rash and insubordinate behaviour, it was for the best that he stayed that way…

"You can't really plan for a Duel, Po… Master," he evaded. "It all depends on how the events play out."

"But you can apparate to him?" Potter sounded hopeful. "Through the Dark Mark, can't you? And surprise him somehow?"

"Yes, I can," said Severus firmly. "I will find a way."

"Good." The relief in the boy's voice was surprising. Perhaps he was starting to put his trust in Severus, after all.

"You know, I haven't had any more visions from him this year," he said. "Do you think it means that he is afraid of using the link to my mind?"

"The Headmaster seems to think so." Severus considered. "I… don't know. The Dark Lord has never revealed any weaknesses or concerns in my presence…"

The boy scowled. "Why do you insist on calling him that? The Dark Lord? It sounds as if you're… I don't know… Why? Dumbledore says that we shouldn't fear a meaningless name."

"We're…" Severus struggled to rein in his temper, and cursed the bond that commanded him to provide his Master with an answer. " _I'm_ forbidden to."

"You're forbidden…" The boy frowned. "By him? You're afraid of him?"

Severus grimaced. "Yes, Po… Master. I am afraid of the Dark Lord. You should be too."

There was silence for a time, and Severus refilled his cup, and took a slice of the cake. Fortunately, the Elves' cooking was as excellent as ever, despite their unwillingness to serve him.

"Are you going to teach me occlumency?" Potter was fidgeting with a loose thread on his trouser leg, and the uncomfortable reminder of their dispute over Severus' childhood memories suddenly hung heavy between them.

"No." Severus rubbed a hand over his face. "I cannot, even if I wanted to. Legillimency is an offensive weapon, and the spell between us would prevent it."

"You'd die if you tried?" Potter seemed troubled, and their eyes met over the rim of Severus' cup. "Even if it was to help me? Even if I… told you to?"

"Yes. I cannot attack you in any way." It was almost a relief, despite the otherwise humiliating effects of the bond. Severus had no interest in repeating those disastrous lessons, especially now, that Potter had absolute power over him…

"Alright." The boy, too, seemed relieved, and they sank back into silence. Potter's eyes started to wander around the room, stopping on a book that had been left on the floor beside his chair. He picked it up and read the title.

" _The history of the valorous and wittie Knight-Errant Don-Quixote of the Mancha_."

Severus felt slightly self-conscious. The similarities between himself and the socially awkward protagonist of that particular novel were subtle, and would surely be lost on Potter, but they struck a hidden cord within his own heart. They were both engaged in a task far beyond their capabilities, and all of it for the heavenly cause of an unrequited love…

"It's a good book," he said quietly. "A parody of sorts. You should read it sometime…"

"Maybe I can borrow it from you?" Potter traced the letters on the cover with a finger. "When all of this is over…"

"Of course." Severus did not mention that the boy did not have to borrow anything. All of his books belonged to Potter anyway, and no matter how things would end, Severus was certain that their own story would only lead him to his death.

"You sure have a lot of books…" The boy placed the 'witty knight' carefully back onto the floor. "I never read much before going to school. Aunt Petunia never gave me any books or toys..."

Severus raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"You know," continued Potter, smiling slightly. "I've always thought you and Petunia would get along splendidly."

Severus straightened, making the old chair creak. "Are you playing a prank on me?"

He could only guess at what disreputable tales Petunia Evans might have told the boy about him and Severus felt oddly vulnerable as the old fear of being ridiculed stirred in his stomach.

But Potter shook his head. "'Course not. Petunia always hated me on sight, because of my 'abnormality'." He chuckled, humourlessly. "Just like you…"

"I never hated you, Po… Master."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Sure…"

"It is no lie." He could lie, of course, but not to his Master.

Potter still looked disbelieving, but apparently decided to let it slide. "Did you ever meet my aunt? I mean, at King's Cross? I'm sure she would have tagged along when my Mum was boarding the train."

"I've met your aunt," said Severus cautiously. "She didn't like me either..."

Potter grinned. "That's ironic." He looked back up at Severus, suddenly a little hesitant. "You knew my Mum in school, didn't you?"

Severus inclined his head a tiny fraction, afraid of the turn the conversation had taken. Discussing Lily with the boy were deep and dangerous waters, and he lacked a means of defence against the boy's curiosity.

Unexpected respite came when their conversation was cut short by a sound outside his door.

"Excuse me, Master." Severus bent to pick up his wand, and opened the door to see a Long Eared owl. It was large, with a wingspan close to forty inches, and he had to turn his head away when it flew to land on his shoulder with an iron grasp.

"She's beautiful," said Potter from behind his back. "Is she yours?"

"No." Severus untied an elegant envelope from the bird's feet. "For obvious reasons, It's impractical to have owls in the Dungeon. She belongs to dear Bella, if memory serves."

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" The boy seemed irate. "Why is she writing to _you_?"

Severus instantly regretted having said anything at all, but the damage was already done. He let the bird go without offering a treat, and it soared out into the hallway with an indignant hoot. He did not want to open the envelope in Potter's presence, but there was little to be done about that now. The boy was hovering near his shoulder, eying the letter in his hand with suspicion. He picked up his glasses from the kitchen counter, and read the delicate penmanship of the Dark Lord's most faithful servant.

"She's inviting me to a cocktail party…"

Potter looked dumbfounded. "What?"

"In honour of her father-in-law's seventieth birthday," said Severus, but his mind had strayed away from the lad at his side…

It seemed as though he would get the opportunity to do the Headmaster's bidding much sooner than he had anticipated, and the fear that gripped him was entirely unexpected. Certainly, this was going to be one of his most perilous and daring spying missions as of yet. The Lestranges were not a family to be trifled with, and the Dark Lord himself would surely attend…

He sat heavily on the armrest of his chair, the letter held limply in an unsteady hand.

"What's wrong?" He looked up to see Potter studying him with an anxious expression, the gentle soul of Lily brought painfully to life in the green, vibrant eyes.

"It's getting late, Master," said Severus softly. "I suggest you leave, if you want to get back to your common room in time for curfew…"

The boy obeyed, although obviously reluctant, and Severus was glad he still held a small measure of authority over him. For as long as it would last.

When Potter had left, Severus sat in his chair for a long time, looking blankly ahead of him. It broke him to have the boy so near. And especially in this almost domestic setting, which forced upon him the reminder of what could have been…

Would there be no respite for him? Was this ghost going to haunt him until he followed her into the grave? And was there anything more torturous than love…? The Dark Lord could cast upon him any curse he pleased, and never cause him such a pain as this…

Perhaps the Lestranges would discover his treason this weekend, and that would be the end of it. He could rest, and go to a better place.

Maybe to see again the gulls of Land's End…

But that would leave Lily's son to die alone at the Dark Lord's hand. And it would leave Dumbledore blind, without the eyes of his spy, the Death Eater.

He would simply have to endure and prevail to fulfil his promise…

...

 **A/N**

 **If you think things are going too well between Potter and ol' Sevvy, here's a gentle reminder that this story is categorised as a tragedy… You might also recall that some things were revealed to Harry near the end of HBP. Something he doesn't yet know… Can you guess?**

 **Is there anything else you'd like to see happening in this story?**


	7. The Burglar

The Lestrange Manor stood atop a round hill, facing east towards a valley filled with an old, dense oaken forest. The stone building was large, and had once upon a time been completely square. But throughout the years, countless additions had been made to the house, and its structure was now confusing and disorderly. Amongst these was an entire chapel, complete with a clock tower, which had been added to the southwestern side of the façade.

Unlike the ancestral home of the Malfoy family though, the place had an air of neglect and decay, and the windows of the entire west wing were gaping, empty holes that resembled black threatening eyes. By the same token, the long rows of weeping willows at the front of the building had grown crooked and wild, and the yellow grass was long and wilted, and had encroached onto the gravel lane.

Within courage lies either the cause that is bigger than any cost, or the absence of wisdom, and Severus considered himself a very clever man. But he was also skilled in the art of deception, and his cause was the driving force behind his entire existence. He had arrived at the manor, unwavering in his duty towards his lost love and her son.

Inside the inhabited part of the east wing were countless galleries and passages, executed in granite stone clad with tapestries, the rooms filled with regal but careworn furniture. No doubt had the place been grand in its day, but the ruin of the family that lived there had rendered it cold and inhospitable.

The Dark Lord had made crystal clear his displeasure with those unfortunate enough amongst his fold to have a hand in the calamity at the Department of Mysteries the previous year. They were all abandoned to suffer the punishment of Azkaban, and as such, there were few attendants from his inner circle, and fewer less of any significance or perspicacity.

In fact, it seemed for a long time as though the Dark Lord himself had found their company unworthy of his audience…

Narcissa's blood red nails were cold against his skin when he kissed her hand. There was a forsaken air about her that evening, which was as evident as the absence of her husband by her side. Undoubtedly, her mind was on the fate that had befallen her only child.

"Severus." She smiled valiantly. "What news from Hogwarts?"

"Nothing new," replied Severus, well aware what she really asked of him. "I have not seen Draco outside of class. I've been… preoccupied as of late."

"You assign too much homework." The black in her hair glittered in the light from the dusty grey chandelier when she shifted. "How is Horace?"

Severus snorted. "He is his old self. Entirely too political for a man of his rank… Decent teacher though."

Narcissa laughed. It was a clear, bright sound despite her gloomy mood. "Well, you're a teacher too. Afraid you've been outdone?"

Severus took a swig from his crystal cup. "Well, the students certainly like him better than me. Not that I mind…"

Narcissa's gaze drifted towards something behind Severus' left shoulder.

"Thorfinn Rowle." Her smile was less genuine this time. "How nice of you to join us…"

"Mrs. Malfoy." The newly arrived Death Eater bowed to kiss her hand. "Snape. Long time, no see… We missed you in the raid against the Abbots."

Rowle was amongst those present from the circle who was highest in rank. He was light of hair with clear blue eyes, sombre and sharp-angled, and had about an inch on Severus' six three-quarters.

"Rowle." Severus turned towards the man, and nearly gnashed his teeth together when he saw Amycus and Alecto Carrow following in his wake. The twins were entirely too fond of drink, and could be agonisingly unrefined, reminding him all too much of his childhood peers in Cokeworth…

"Severus," said Amycus, patting his shoulder after having greeted Narcissa. Where his sister was short and squat with striking red hair, he was tall and grim, with a greying day-old stubble on his long face. "Where have you been hiding all this time?"

"Alecto. Amycus." Severus bowed over the pale hand that Alecto offered him. The scent of her perfume was floral, and entirely too strong. "How are you?"

The short woman studied him through her deep-set eyes, the sluggishness in her movements betraying her slight inebriation. "Better than you, apparently." She smiled unpleasantly. "I don't think I ever saw your hair this greasy…"

Severus frowned, irritated, but Rowle eyed him with a calculating look. "She's right, Severus. What's the matter? Is Dumbledore taking out his frustrations on you?"

Alecto giggled. The conversation was old and wearisome, and though the gibes were most likely founded in jealousy of his position with the Dark Lord, there was a dangerous undertone to the bickering. Severus was well aware that he had let himself go lately, and that the signs of his stressful life were becoming apparent. He had long since stopped looking in the mirror in the morning, knowing without seeing just how haggard and worn his face had become.

Amongst the Death Eaters though, he was not the only one who was prone to self-neglect, and he had rather thought that it would pass by unnoticed, as many of the others looked not much better than he…

He felt Narcissa shift uncomfortably at his side. "Amycus, would you mind bringing me another?" She held out her empty glass, and Severus felt entirely too grateful towards her for providing him the opportunity to escape.

"If you'll excuse me," He bowed to the women in turn. "I need some fresh air…"

They let him go without much fuss. The air outside of the manor was sharp, and the westerly wind made the willows creak and rustle in the dark night. Severus closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he were far away. He hated social gatherings like this, much preferring to stay at home with a book and some wine, but more importantly, the task of searching around after Dumbledore's hidden artefacts seemed impossible in the large house. Besides, he was beginning to run out of time. Perhaps another conversation with Bella was unavoidable.

But he dreaded the dangerous dance of trying to outsmart her once again…

"Severus Snape…"

The drunken voice startled him, and he turned sharply to see a portly, greying man with a pointed beard and round spectacles stepping inelegantly down the wide front steps.

"Mr. Lestrange." Severus inclined his head deeply. "My congratulations."

The elder Lestrange waved him off, producing a finely enamelled case from his vest pocket, and held it out in offering. "Cigar?"

"Thank you, no. I have my own."

The man jerked his head as though shaking off a fly. "The trash you smoke is only fit for the crude and lowly."

Apparently, he was already deep into his cups, and Severus was gratified for his own ability to stomach strong liqueur. Perhaps he could try to find out how much time he had on his hands.

"I see our Lord has yet to arrive…?"

Lestrange shook his head while lighting up with a long, smooth wand. "You as well," he slurred dejectedly, releasing a deep sigh. "Is _he_ the only thing you children think about?" He shook his head. "It is no wonder the world is going to the hounds…"

Severus' eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you lads need to start thinking for yourselves." He gesticulated in Severus' direction with his wand, seeming to grow agitated. "As I approach adulthood," he said, blowing thick smoke through his teeth. "I find myself contemplating my life, which invariably leads me to think about the lives of my children." He pointed a gnarled finger at Severus' nose.

"Both of them, my handsome sons, are wasting away in prison for the majority of their best years, and my beautiful daughter through marriage, whom I love as though she were my own, going slowly insane…"

He stopped for a moment, and there was genuine sadness in his eyes. "Our Bell… She was the best of the Black sisters. She had the sharpest of minds, and I knew from early on that I needed to procure her for one of my own…"

A measure of pride crept into his voice. "You know, she could brew a potent Amortenia at the tender age of nine." He chuckled. "Yes, I can see the jealousy in your eyes… But now," his face fell, "her mind is wasted on an unnatural infatuation that I fear will lead her to her death… And my sons along with her…"

Severus shifted. "You play a dangerous game, Sir. Telling me this..."

The elder man merely shrugged his shoulders, and turned to gaze at his ancestors' home for a moment before turning unsteadily back to Severus. "It is such a tragedy," he said. "She cares not for her husband or family any more, only for that half-human and his keepsakes…"

Their eyes met over Lestranges' spectacles, and Severus acted on pure instinct. The old man was no fool, nor was he lacking in magical abilities, and had he not been drunk as a newt, Severus would surely have faced imminent death.

From the depth of his pocket, he gripped his wand hard, willing his magic forth without a word.

 _Legillimens_.

Images of Rabastan and Rodolphus invaded his mind, along with a desolate feeling of helpless impotency… Then, a young Bella, smiling shyly behind lively curls. Wistfulness… The Dark Lord, in his resurrected form, and a feeling of betrayal… A grown Bella, singing a nursery rhyme in her room, while her father-in-law watched, hidden behind a door. Disturbed. Frightened for himself. And for her… A cup in her hands… Golden, with two sapphires decorating the handles…

Severus released his hold, waiting with bated breath.

But the Lestrange patriarch merely rubbed a hand over his eyes, as though trying to relieve himself of a headache.

"You know, sometimes I think that your mother did the only sensible thing…"

The words were like a kick in the gut, and for a moment, Severus struggled to control his spinning thoughts.

"You knew Mum?"

"Watch it, lad," said Lestrange sharply, looking up again. "Unless your breeding shows."

He twirled his wand between his fingers, looking Severus up and down. "Yes," he said, "I knew your mother… I also know what it did to her parents when she ran off with the filth you call father."

He sighed. "But in the end, I think, she was a more sensible person than I… It was a good thing she did, killing herself when you took the Mark."

His hand went up to clutch at his chest. " _I_ on the other hand…" he shook his head sadly. "I egged my children on, to become blind followers of another man. And look now, where it has brought them… And me!"

"I… I need to go inside…"

Severus took an uncertain step backwards, and Lestrange snorted contemptuously into his drink.

"Yes, run along. Run like a good dog drooling at its master's side." He waved ha hand in Severus' direction. "But you'll mind my words if you know what's best for you…"

Severus stumbled back through the main entrance, uncaring of what the old man thought of his behaviour. He was too drunk to be taken seriously by the other Death Eaters in any case. The reminder of his mother's suicide though, had torn open an old wound, and Severus hid for a moment inside a dark alcove to collect himself.

He considered for some time whether Lestrange suspected him of treason. It was a possibility, but their conversation had not seemed like an attempt to trick him into a confession. Perhaps the man was merely a remorseful parent who regretted his old sins. Severus could relate to that, at least.

But it mattered little, because now, he knew exactly where to find what he was seeking…

Without looking back, he cast the most powerful disillusionment charm he could manage, and hurried up the flight of stairs that led to the first floor of the eastern wing. He took a risk then, choosing to move quickly rather than stealthily, and ran down the corridor in search of the room he had seen inside Lestrange's mind.

He did not have to run far. On his left as he rounded a corner, was the easily recognisable door that led to Bella's rooms. He stopped just outside, drawing his wand to feel for wards and traps. They were plentiful, which was a good sign, but he spent the better part of a half-hour breaking them down. By the end, he was cursing under his breath from the strain on his nerves.

The bedroom was large, and extravagantly furnished, with several chests and cabinets along the walls, but Severus did not intend to search through them. Instead, he went to stand in the centre of the room and closed his eyes. He dropped both his occlumency and the disillusionment charm, and straining his magic close to the limit, he focused all of his attention on the magical signature of Bellatrix Lestrange. Soon, thereafter, he approached the bed.

A heavily jewelled box the size of a breadbasket was hidden inside one of Bella's pillows. It was so strongly warded that at first, Severus was unable to open it, and he knew immediately that had found his prize.

He ingested a potion then, which he had brought along in his inner pocket. It was made from one of his own recipes, and was designed to focus a person's magical abilities to their maximum potential. He waited for it to take effect, and redoubled his efforts.

He spent much too long, but in the end, the casket sprang open to reveal a goblet engraved with the Hufflepuff badger.

Drained, Severus sat back, regarding it. It radiated dark magic of a potency that far surpassed his own and Bella's. Surely, this cup belonged to the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore must have been right in his suspicions...

"Finally."

Claws of ice gripped his heart, and Severus spun sharply to discover the intruder.

"I thought you'd never finish, Snape. I find myself quite bored, in fact…"

The taunting voice belonged to Rowle, who had his wand pointed steadily between Severus' eyes. Closing them for a fraction of a second, he cursed himself a fool for not taking the time to set up wards.

"Drop your wand."

Rowle smiled as Severus obeyed. "What's that you got there?" He closed in, and Severus backed up a couple of steps.

"It's just a goblet…"

"Mhm… Looks pretty."

He leered. "I bet Bella won't thank you for stealing that from her… Or perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye?" He closed the final distance between them letting his wand dig into Severus' throat, just beneath the jaw.

"Here's what _I_ think," said Rowle. "I think that you're a traitor, Snape." He tutted. "Oh, dear. What will our Lord say? His trusted spy, caught _stealing_ from one of his brethren…"

He retreated a little, eyes hard. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Rowle removed his wand from Severus' throat to roll up the sleeve that hid the Dark Mark, and Severus knew that this was the only chance he would get.

Pushing off from the wall behind him, he barrelled shoulder first into the Death Eater with his full weight, knocking them both down on to the floor.

Severus might not have been the strongest man alive, but he'd fought bullies before, and had the experience to handle himself reasonably well. Before Rowle had been given time to process what had happened, he delivered a forceful blow to the man's face, breaking his jaw with a sickening crack.

Rowle though, had managed to fire off a blasting curse just in time, and it hit Severus' side hard. He groaned as the breath was knocked out of him and an agonising pain shot up his left side. Pushed by the powerful blast, he fell backwards, hitting his head on one of Bella's wooden chests.

Then, everything went black.

When he awoke, several seconds passed before he could remember where he was. The pain in his side told him he had not fared well, and he had to gasp for breath when he attempted to stir.

His face and mouth felt wet, and when he finally managed to roll over to spit, he could feel a gaping hole where one of his teeth had been.

As he raised his eyes from the rug on Bella's bedroom floor, where a small pool of his blood was gathered in the dust, it brought him face to face with Rowle. The man was unconscious; his jaw a mangled mess, and never before had Severus felt so lucky.

He struggled to his feet, and picked up his mother's wand, apologising to her spirit for what he was about to do. Then, he aimed it at Rowle's chest.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

With a flash of green light, his brother Death Eater was dead.

From his pocket, Severus brought out a vial of pain reliever and drank greedily. Then he cast _tergeo_ on his face and clothes. He wasted no time mourning the loss of his fellow man, but wrapped the Dark Lord's cup inside a handkerchief, and rushed out of the room and down the flight of stairs into the foyer.

An angel must have watched over him, because he met no one along his path. Leaving through the main entrance, he gave all he was good for to make it to the boundary of the manor's wards.

The way felt unbearably long. Severus hadn't run any measureable distance for a decade, and he was not as fit as he had once been. By the time he reached a point where he could apparate, both his lungs and his entire left side were burning like fire despite the potion he had taken, and his breathing was jagged and strained. He never once looked back though, his cover be damned. The most important thing was to get the cup safely to Dumbledore. He would return after, lest he expired from a heart attack from all of this exertion, hoping that no one would notice his absence…

He disapparated with a loud crack, landing unsteadily outside the gates of Hogwarts. Then he ran again, choosing the steep stone stairs up to the castle, all the while cursing the wards that prevented anyone besides the Headmaster from apparating into the school.

He stormed through the door to Dumbledore's office, not bothering to knock, and with his precious prize wrapped safely within the handkerchief.

The startled Headmaster jumped to his feet, drawing arms with lightening swiftness.

"Don't hex me," panted Severus, raising his free hand in the universal sign of surrender. "It is only I…"

"Severus!"

All traces of Dumbledore's grandfatherly façade had vanished like the sun behind stormy clouds, and the most powerful wizard alive rushed forward in a flurry of grey.

Severus drew back a couple of steps. "Dumbledore…" He struggled to control his breathing. "Lower your wand…"

"What is this?"

The Headmaster's eyes and wand were trained on Severus' chest, where he was cradling the cup to him with a white-knuckled hand.

Severus unwrapped it, extending it towards his mentor with both of his hands. "I think this is one of the items you seek…"

The older man held out a hand of his own, letting it hover cautiously above the golden goblet, not close enough to touch. Then, their eyes met over the Dark Lord's Horcrux, and Severus felt the familiar pressure of the Headmaster's legillimency. He let go his shields.

"Take it," said Severus, when the contact was broken. He pushed it slightly towards Dumbledore. "I must hurry to return…"

Only then did he notice another presence in the room…

"Master."

Severus bowed to the timid-looking boy who was staring at his teachers with wide eyes, and winced as the pain in his side intensified.

"Sn… Professor," said Potter uncertainly. "What's happening?"

"I will explain it to you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Severus must make haste to maintain his cover."

Potter got to his feet. "Wait!" He took a step forward. "He's hurt…"

The Headmaster looked back at Severus, and relieved him of the cup. Then he aimed his wand at the place where his side ached and whispered a long spell. However, for some reason, it did not seem to work right, and though the pain diminished, it never disappeared completely.

But there was no time to deal with that, because suddenly, his Dark Mark burned harshly, making him hiss through his teeth.

"He calls?" Dumbledore asked.

Severus occluded his mind once more, and adjusted his dishevelled clothing. "Yes, Headmaster," he said evenly. "I will see you both later…"

"Godspeed," mumbled Dumbledore, frowning over his spectacles.

The boy approached another step. "Be careful!"

The last thing Severus saw before turning to run once more, was a pair of green eyes filled with worry.

...

 **A/N**

 **Thank you so much for reading. I am very grateful, and love hearing what you think- good or ill.**

 **I feel a bit bad though, for making you worry about this being a tragedy. You see, I think that Harry is a good boy, and have no interest in making him a villain. Mentoring stories with Snape & Harry was actually what made me want to read fanfiction in the first place. **

**So there's that. Are you feeling reassured?**


	8. The Cruciatus

Severus had returned to the manor together with those from the fold who had not been invited to the party. All guests who were not followers of the Dark Lord had been dispelled, and none of his brothers had either the time or energy to take notice of him as the tyrant made his displeasure known.

He was terrifyingly furious, resembling more an injured beast then the strategic, calculating man that they knew. He had doled out grisly punishments east and west, sparing no one, and all Severus could do was hope his occlumency would hold as he writhed on the floor, screaming hoarsely as his vision began to split under the influence of the cruciatus curse.

In the end, the blame for the incident had fallen on poor Bella, who had been the one responsible for the missing heirloom at the time of its disappearance. Severus did not know if she was still alive, but unless she was able to return the cup to their Lord, her time would be cut short in any case. Within the haze that was his shattered mind, he felt a stab of sympathy for her and for her father in law as he stumbled down the gravel lane when they were finally dismissed.

Severus did not fare so well. It was a close call that he made it back to Hogwarts at all, helped by Narcissa, who had waited for him near the forest that encircled the neglected manor.

He knew that her kindness had more to it than altruism, but was grateful nonetheless, almost regretting that he was going to betray the promise he had made to her.

She brought him to the gates as he was, transfiguring an earring into a sheet of paper and charmed it to fly to Dumbledore to alert him that he needed to come and pick up the pieces of his spy.

He knew little of what happened from there on, as he was in no shape to pay it any attention.

…

Harry was startled awake when an invisible hand squeezed his shoulder with a gentle pressure. He scrambled back, hands searching frantically for his wand, but then, a low voice whispered close to his ear.

"Harry, it is I. Please come quickly, I am in need of your help… And try not to wake anyone…"

Dumbledore.

Heart beating quickly against his ribs, Harry attempted to dress noiselessly, struggling when his trousers refused to cooperate.

In the bed next to his own, Ron stirred. "What's up, Harry?" His voice was rusty from sleep –the hair on his head sticking out in complete disorder.

"Nothing," whispered Harry. "I had a bad dream, is all."

Ron regarded him uneasily. "Nothing to do with Voldemort, I hope?"

"No. Not that." He shook his head. "Just go back to sleep."

"Alright," mumbled Ron, already turning to burrow his face into the pillow.

Harry wasn't worried about his friend. He rarely let himself be disturbed for long during the night, and of the four boys who shared his dormitory, Neville was by far the lightest sleeper. But _his_ curtains were closed, and the only sound from his bed was that of an even snore. Stealthily, Harry picked his glasses from the bedside table and put them on his nose.

Years ago, Aunt Petunia had found them in the lost-and-found box at his Primary School, and he had worn them each day of his life ever since. They fit him better now that his face had grown into their size, and didn't fall off his face quite as much anymore. Much thanks to Dudley's meaty fists, they had broken multiple times, and he used to have a piece of tape over the top bar to hold them together. Later though, that had been remedied by Hermione, whose proficiency in charms was unmatched by any other in their year.

He followed the invisible man in front of him as he opened the door towards the stairs that lead to the Gryffindor common room.

It was cold this time of night; the fire in the hearth had long since burnt down, and temperatures outside were still close to freezing this early in spring.

Dumbledore materialised before his eyes as they departed through the Fat Lady's portrait, and the old headmaster turned his head to face him.

"I'm sorry for waking you in the middle of the night, Harry, but there has been an emergency…" He started to walk the hall, indicating for Harry to follow.

An unexpected dread gripped Harry's heart as he thought of Snape's pale face the previous evening. "What's wrong?" he asked urgently. "Did he not come back?"

The Headmaster smiled sadly, seeming pleased despite himself. "Don't worry, Harry," he said. "Severus has returned. But he has an injury, and now it seems as though we cannot heal him… I expect it has to do with the spell I cast upon you."

"Oh." Harry did not quite know what to do with the odd feeling that churned in his gut. Surely, he should not care this much for what happened to Snape, but the thought that he might be severely hurt brought him close to panic.

"Can't Madame Pomfrey do something," he asked, picking up pace to catch up with Dumbledore's long steps.

"She has tried," replied the Headmaster. "As have I. But it seems as though this bond requires the Master's touch for a slave to heal properly… As I told you yesterday, it puts several restraints and obligations upon Severus, as he is no longer considered his own man. Apparently, they pertain to healing as well. I suppose so that the slave cannot repair the damage done should the master decide to punish him…"

Harry fell silent as Dumbledore led him through unfamiliar shortcuts and narrow stairs. The candles in the wall sconces lit as though with a life of their own as they strode forward, only to extinguish behind them when they were no longer needed.

The previous evening, the Headmaster had called him to his office to enquire about Harry's experiences as a new slave owner, and they had spent close to an hour discussing the ways in which the bond between him and Snape worked. Dumbledore had impacted upon him his absolute rights on Snape, and the grave importance of how he phrased his questions, telling him to be mindful that the Potion's Master could not refuse any requests he made, no matter how innocuously they were worded.

Then, Snape had burst through the door, exhausted and panting… Presenting a golden cup that presumably held a cut out piece of Voldemort's soul…

Harry could only imagine what he had to do to get hold of it, and dared not think about the consequences if the other Death Eaters discovered what he had done.

Ever since Snape's willingness to be enslaved to him had been revealed, Harry had felt inexplicably drawn towards the man. Not only because of his sacrifice, but also because he'd seen his pain, and some of his emotion.

When he'd gone to visit Snape in his quarters shortly after, he'd been prepared for a battle of wills to satisfy his curiosity, but to Harry's surprise, Snape had been calm and almost approachable as he greeted him in his shirtsleeves in the warm, cluttered living room.

Without his strict teaching coat, Snape had looked smaller somehow. His shoulders seemed narrower, and he didn't loom so much, but more importantly, there had been a remarkable absence of his usual irate mood. Perhaps, unlike Aunt Petunia, his bark was really worse than his bite… They had talked about some personal things, and formed a tentative truce over a shared meal of sandwiches and tea. And Snape had looked at him oddly, as though seeing him for the first time…

Harry wondered again what had made Snape agree so willingly to be the one to duel Voldemort. There seemed to be an odd camaraderie between him and the Headmaster. Almost a friendship of sorts. Yet it was a decidedly uneven one. One that placed Dumbledore firmly on top… Perhaps more like a mentor or parent, thought Harry, and he wondered whether he would ever share such a rapport with someone…

The Headmaster's pace slowed, and to Harry's surprise, he had led them not to the Infirmary, but to Snape's quarters in the Dungeons.

Dumbledore did not have to say a thing to the white whale in the tapestry that decorated Snape's door, as it opened on its own accord the moment that they arrived.

The room in side was dimly lit, and Madame Pomfrey whirled around when they entered, looking harried and stressed.

"Headmaster! Finally," she barked. "I've been through every healing spell I know of." She threw her arms wide. "The pain reliever won't work properly either. I certainly hope you have found…" her eyes widened. "Oh… Mr. Potter?" She looked searchingly at Dumbledore, her mouth forming a thin, straight line.

The Headmaster started to explain, but Harry didn't pay attention. Through one of the doors that led to the living room, he could see Snape sitting on the edge of a large bed. Quietly, he entered what was presumably Snape's bedchamber, feeling increasing alarm at the sight before him.

Apart from a missing tooth, Snape had no apparent injuries that Harry could see, but he was trembling, his breathing shallow and rapid, and the look on his face disturbingly disoriented…

"Professor…?"

Snape raised his dark eyes to stare vacantly ahead of him.

"Are you alright?" Harry crouched down on the floor to have a better look at his face. Snape's pale forehead was sweaty, and his lips tinted slightly blue. He did not respond, other than by following Harry's movements with unfocused eyes.

"Mr. Potter," said Madame Pomfrey sharply from somewhere behind his back.

"Why is he not responding?" Harry didn't care if he sounded frightened.

"It is the cruciatus curse," she replied. "It attacks the nerves, and is detrimental to organs that rely on electric impulses, like the heart and brain. He is not responding because he isn't completely lucid. "

She came to stand next to Snape. "We have remedies of course, that helps to a certain degree… But they won't work for him." She graced Harry with a piercing look. "Though the Headmaster tells me you might be able to help."

She turned to the old man who had entered the room behind them. "Please hurry." Her voice was hard, belying the plea in her words. "I fear for his sanity…"

Harry turned to Dumbledore beseechingly. "Tell me what to do!"

"Stay calm, Harry." The Headmaster strode forward. "I want you to give him this potion." He produced a vial of a mustard-yellow liquid, and Harry took it with trembling hands. "Hold it for him. Tell him to drink."

"Okay…" He approached Snape, placing his hand on a slumped shoulder, and holding the vial to the slightly parted lips. "Drink it…" His voice quivered. "It is an order."

Stirring for the first time in a while, Snape squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. Harry held the vial firmly, forcing his head slightly backwards, and after some moments of agonising struggle, Snape managed to drink nearly everything.

"Is it working?"

Poppy bent to check Snape's pupils. "We'll know by tomorrow… There is nothing to do but wait. But first," she went to collect another three vials from the bedside table, giving them to Harry. "His left fifth rib is broken, and it has punctured the lung. These will take care of it. After, I want you to give him this sleeping draught so that he can rest until tomorrow."

With painful coaxing, wary of the shallow, jagged breathing, Harry managed to get all of the potions into the man. As Poppy cleaned off Snape a little, and settled him under the covers, Harry went to the living room where Dumbledore was studying a used cauldron in Snape's kitchen, a deep groove between his eyes.

Harry wrung his hands together. "I hope he'll be alright…?"

The Headmaster studied him over his half-moon spectacles. "As do I, Harry. But Severus is strong. He has come out of similar situations many times in the past." He smiled gently.

The matron joined them, removing her white nurse's hat to let her hair out of its restraints. "The bone regenerative and tissue restorative are working, so at least his lung will be back in order." She breathed a sigh. "Mr. Potter's influence seems to have done the trick…"

She packed a few vials and instruments into a small leather bag, and started for the door. "I'll retire for now, Headmaster," she said. "He'll sleep for several hours, so I won't return to check on him 'till morning."

"Thank you Poppy," said Dumbledore wearily. "Have a good night."

"Does she know?" Harry asked, once the door had closed.

"No." The old man ran a hand over his face. "But she suspects _something_ … She isn't very happy with me at the moment."

"Oh…"

Harry sat down in the armchair the Potion's Master had used previously. It was careworn and saddle-backed from much use, and his fingers found a hole on the armrest, presumably where Snape's elbow would usually rest.

"I daresay your mission to acquire Slughorn's memory has become in some way redundant," said the Headmaster, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Yet, I would still like for you to try and procure that memory… Though we know with certainty now, that Voldemort has created Horcruxes for himself, there is still the question of how many…"

"I'll try, of course," said Harry, "but I don't know how yet…"

"You will find a way." The old man stroked his beard. "When Severus recovers I will come for you. Then we will destroy the cup. I think I know a way to do it so that it will be gone forever, but it requires that we go somewhere outside of Hogwarts. I'd rather not unleash that kind of magic near the castle…"

Harry supressed a yawn, and the Headmaster straightened. "Time for bed, Harry. There will be another day…"

He smoothed over the hole on Snape's chair. "Can I stay…?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, hesitating. "I don't see why not…"

"I'd like to," said Harry. "Maybe Madame Pomfrey needs me tomorrow morning…"

"Fair enough." The Headmaster picked a quilt off the floor and threw it to him. "Be gentle if he wakes though. Remember what we talked about regarding your curious nature and the phrasing of questions…"

Harry smiled, self-conscious. "Thank you. I'll bear that in mind."

Dumbledore left with a quiet 'goodnight', and Harry found himself alone in the silent room. Noiselessly, he crossed the floor to the bedroom, and approached Snape's reclining form.

He looked weary, the frown line between is eyes ever-present, even as he slept. But the trembling had stopped, and his lips had regained their natural colour.

Harry's thoughts were a-jumble. The departed look on Snape's face as he sat on the bed, trembling, had shaken him to the core. He knew all too well from seeing Neville's parents what devastating damage the cruciatus curse could do… What if the teacher who was sacrificing his freedom to help Harry suffered permanent damage? Despite the man's many flaws, he cared not to imagine Snape all broken and shattered...

He decided to stay awake for the night, in case he was needed.

From the floor in the living room, he picked up the book they had talked about the last time he was here, and wrapping himself into the large quilt, he settled down to read into the chair that bore Snape's imprint.

But the language in the 'witty knight' was old-fashioned and long-winded, and soon, he drifted off to the garden of dreams…

…

 **A/N**

 **Pay attention because something in this chapter will recur later on…**

 **Don't you think that Daniel Radcliffe was priceless in the felix felicis scenes in HBP? He is far from the best actor in this series, but that just cracks me up every time!**

 **Don't worry though, I don't intend to write it out- it won't fit, and besides, I could in no way do it justice…**

 **Cheers 'till next time**


	9. What's it like?

That Saturday morning, Harry woke with a crick in his neck and a sore temple from where his glasses had pressed into the armrest of Snape's chair. He felt poorly rested, as though he hadn't slept more than a couple of hours, and yawned widely as he removed the spectacles to adjust its frames, which had become crooked during the night.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter."

He raised his head up to see Madame Pomfrey standing by the kitchen sink, folding a newspaper while she regarded him. She was looking stern.

"Why are you not in your common room?" She frowned as she poured water into a mug and helped herself to some powdered coffee from a jar that stood atop the counter. The grey wisps of her hair were tied back up into a knot at the base of her neck, and her uniform was once again impeccably pristine, making Harry appear scruffy and unkempt.

"Err... Dumbledore allowed me to stay…" He felt awkward, and a little defiant at her obvious displeasure, as he got up to remove the quilt and adjust his wrinkled sweater. "How is he?"

"Professor Snape?" She aimed her wand at the cup and soon, hot steam rose from it in thin spirals. "He shall recover. What you did yesterday must have had its effect. However that came to pass…"

Harry decided to ignore the silent question. "He's awake then?"

She picked up the mug, all business. "Barely. He needs to rest for the day. So if you intend to speak with him…?" she gave Harry a searching look as though expecting an explanation, nostrils flaring when he remained silent. "Well," she continued primly, "then I suggest you take it easy on him."

Exactly what Dumbledore had said the other day. Harry wondered just how well Snape really was. "I know that…" He folded the quilt and laid it over the back of the armchair.

"Fine," said Pomfrey curtly, putting the newspaper down, and her coffee back into the sink, untouched. "I'll be back in another couple of hours. There are students waiting for me in the Infirmary."

As the door snapped shut behind her back, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't feel comfortable with keeping Pomfrey in the dark, but the alternative of revealing to her the nature of his connection to Snape was much, much worse. He located the bathroom, and relieved himself, then drank some water directly from the kitchen sink, and took a biscuit from a small bowl he found on the only table in the room.

Snape's place seemed even untidier than it had the previous time he was here. There were piles of books and parchment on the floor, and empty slots in the disorganised bookshelves, which he presumed was where the books usually went. There was even a pile of laundry lying about behind the bedroom door, and Harry wondered if Snape was paranoid enough not to let the House Elves in to do the cleaning. The dirty cauldron was still on the kitchen counter, along with strewn about potion ingredients and three half-empty mugs of black tea.

Harry tiptoed to Snape's room, approaching the bed to look down on him. It was a little rude, he was aware of that. But he'd been there the night before, and besides, he felt he had a certain right to. Not because he was Snape's owner, of course. No, he didn't give that much thought at all, but more because he felt he had a small investment in Snape now. He cared a little about what happened to the man, odd as it might seem. It was simply impossible not to, what with all that had happened.

He'd made sure to be silent, but something must have alerted the man to his presence, because his eyelids suddenly stirred, and a dark, sharp gaze met Harry's, making him take a quick step back.

Painstakingly, Snape moved to support himself on an elbow, attempting to even out their difference in height.

"Po… Master." He sounded slightly out of breath. "You're hovering… like a Dementor." The groove between his eyes divided his pale forehead in two.

There were dark rings under Snape's eyes. He looked exhausted, yet infinitely better than the day before. The light in his eyes spoke of alertness. And anger.

"Sorry…" Harry fidgeted.

"What… are you doing here?" breathed Snape.

Growing irritated with the man's hostility, Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are you so cross with me? I waited here all night," he said touchily. "But I can see now that it was a mistake."

Snape struggled to sit against the headrest. "Well, if you'd rather be… without my company, I suggest you leave… at once."

Harry huffed. "I just wanted to see if you were alright!"

Snape still seemed suspicious, but there was an edge of something else in his eyes as well. Something that resembled appreciation. Or perhaps even pleasure… He was probably not used to people showing him much consideration, students in particular. It was also a great relief to see that the frighteningly vacant look in his eyes from the day before had vanished. Mollified, Harry scratched his hair.

"D'you want anything?"

Snape watched him, seeming to relax his guard a little. "Some water would be nice…"

"Sure." He went to get it, letting the tap run for some time before rinsing and filling one of the used tea mugs.

"Madame Pomfrey left a paper. Want me to read it for you?"

Snape snatched it out of his hand. "I didn't hurt my eyes, dimwit," he growled, but his tone of voice belied the words, and for Snape, they sounded almost like an endearment. Harry's eyes widened though, as he waited for the bond to punish the man for calling him something that was a far cry from the usual 'master'. But Snape seemed unaffected, and merely started to search around his pillows for something.

"It's over here."

Harry picked the ebony wand from the bedside table. It felt cool to his touch, stiffer and gloomier than his own, seeming both sober and erratic at the same time. He looked at the black piece of wood in his hand, knowing instantly that he could do magic with it. A wand was such an important part of a wizard's being, it was almost like a part of their soul. And this one hummed to do his bidding, as though its obedience to him would be but an extension of its master's will.

Their eyes met as he placed the handle in Snape's hand, and Harry suddenly knew that though Snape had only recently become his slave, this wand would have obeyed him all along.

"Thank you." Snape summoned his glasses and disappeared behind the paper. After a moment though, he looked back up. "Want the sports section?"

Harry's lip twitched. "Yeah. Thanks."

Moving Snape's boots out of the way, he took a chair next to the bed and revelled in the silence that pervaded the Dungeons, only broken by the rustling of their newspapers, and Snape's occasional sigh. The stone walls here were obviously thick, because not a single sound could be heard from the other occupants of the castle. It was as though they were the only people there.

"Dunderheads."

Harry looked up from the article he was reading about some chaser on Puddlemere United who had broken her broom in the latest match against the Holyhead Harpies.

"Who?"

Snape frowned. "Everyone." He threw the newspaper away, and made to get out of bed.

"Are you sure you should…?" Harry's weak protest was cut off by a warning glance. Deciding to mind his own business, he picked up the paper to skim through the news report that Snape had just read.

 _Death Eater left for dead at the visitor's entrance to the Misistry of Magic:_

 _Early this morning, the body of known Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle (35) was discovered inside one of the telly-phone boots that allows visitors into the Ministry's Atrium. The mutilated body was severely disfigured, leaving an eleven-inch chestnut wand as the sole evidence of identification. Head Auror, Gawain Robards speculates that the body was left there as a message of warning to the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour, who has taken up a more proactive policy than his predecessor, seems to have provoked You-Know-Who, who not ten months ago declared open war against wizarding Britain…_

"Why is he killing off his own people?" Harry hurried after Snape into the living room, where he had summoned an Elf to bring them breakfast. "Oh, that looks delicious."

Snape indicated for him to take a seat across the table. "He is not," the man said darkly. "That was not meant for the Minister, the body was just sent there so that it would make it into the morning papers. That warning is for one of the other Death Eaters…"

Harry buttered a roll. "How can anyone be a follower of that creep when he treats his closest allies just as badly as the rest of us? You should think all of the Death Eaters would have come to their senses by now and deserted." He looked up at Snape's serious face and shook his head. "Oh, that's right. They're all so afraid of him they can't summon up the courage."

Snape studied him thoughtfully. "Yes, there is some truth to that. Though a fair few of them agree with his purist views."

"What do you think about it then?"

Snape stiffened in his seat. "I do not approve of the Dark Lord's politics. Nor his methods to achieve them."

"But you did once?" asked Harry cautiously.

Dark eyes watched him warily. "I joined the Death Eaters to impress someone…" Snape hesitated. "Suffice to say, it did not have its desired effect."

Harry snorted. "I can only imagine. If that was your idea of proving yourself, you must have disappointed a fair few people throughout the years."

Snape remained silent. Between the collars on his shirt, Harry could see the chain-like tattoo where it crossed the man's throat. He looked down on the arm that rested on the worn, stained surface of the wooden table, but the Dark Mark was hidden behind long sleeves.

"What's it like?"

The teacher looked up. "What do you mean?"

Harry fidgeted, unable to meet his teacher's gaze. "To be a slave?"

Snape sighed heavily and put his fork down. "I don't know what to say, Po..." he broke off, taking a deep breath. "I just don't know. I haven't been one for very long, now have I?"

"I bet it must have been hard on your pride though," said Harry with a small smile, "having to call me Master and all that…"

"Yes, well. That's hardly harmful for me," admitted Snape. "In any case, there are other more important matters to worry about. Destroying that goblet, for one."

This was true, but Harry didn't like to share a title with Voldemort any more than Snape must enjoy saying it. Shyly, he peered up through his fringe. "Do you think you could call me Harry?"

Snape looked surprised, and Harry hurried to continue. "Back when you woke up, you called me a dunderhead, or something along those lines. I much prefer that to 'master', actually. And the bond, it didn't seem to punish you then. Do you think it will hurt you if I asked you to call me Harry?"

The teacher swallowed, and his eyes strayed up past Harry's left shoulder as he pondered the question. "I think that it recognises my intent… So unless I mean it as an insult…"

Harry thought about all the times Snape had called him 'Potter' in that contemptuous way of his. "You think the name Potter is an insult?" He couldn't help but grin.

There were crinkles at the corners of Snape's eyes as well.

"Ah, well…," he said. "When you put it like that, I'll admit it sounds a bit unfair. If you work to keep that impudence in check, I might consider changing my mind…"

"I'm not _impudent_ ," Harry said indignantly, but he was capable of recognising an olive branch when it was offered, and kept his voice free of spite. He wasn't sure if he was willing to put all of his faith in Snape just yet, and the man's blatant hate of his deceased Godfather was still a sore spot at the back of his mind. But in the face of his teacher's readiness to risk both his life and pride for the cause, he was not adverse to becoming on better terms.

"Then I want you to do it. Call me Harry… If _you_ want to, that is…"

Snape inclined his head. "If that is your wish… Harry."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. Some of that worn-out look had returned to Snape's features, and when he was done eating, he sunk into the armchair he seemed to prefer and closed his eyes. Harry decided to let him be for a while, and with nothing much better to do, he sat down in front of the fireplace and picked up the book he'd started reading the previous night.

But Harry wasn't much of a reader, and soon, his gaze landed on a muggle picture that was used as a bookmark in one of the other tomes that lay on the floor. Curiosity perked, he pulled it slightly towards him, noticing with surprise that it was a wedding picture. As far as he knew, Snape didn't have a spouse, and so he picked it up to have a closer look.

It was black-and-white, and judging from the style of the bride's wedding gown and hair, it must have been taken some time in the fifties or sixties. Neither of the two were smiling, and with the bride's dark eyes and beak-nosed face, and the groom's tall build, he knew instantly that he was looking at Snape's parents.

He startled when his teacher spoke softly. "My father was a muggle."

"What?" Harry looked up at Snape uncertainly.

"My father was muggle," repeated Snape. "Only my mother was a witch, and I grew up in the muggle world. That's why the picture isn't moving."

"Oh…"

"They married in '59," he continued in that quiet voice. "A year before I was born. Her family resented her for it. They thought her a blood-traitor and disinherited her."

Harry studied the stern-looking woman. "She doesn't seem very happy…"

"She wasn't," said Snape simply. "My mother was… unwell. And in many ways she was so unhappy with her life, she didn't really have the energy for a family. Much less a child…"

Harry rather thought that Snape must resemble his mother in more ways than one… He fingered the worn edges of the picture. "Where is she now?"

"She died," said Snape. "A long time ago. I hardly ever wept for her, I was so angry at the time."

There was something in Snape's voice that made Harry want to try to make him feel better.

"You shouldn't feel guilty about it," he said. "I hardly ever cried for my Mum either. I was too little, so I didn't understand. Besides, I never really knew her… I do miss her though," he added. "Sometimes."

It didn't seem like his words had helped, because Snape looked even sadder. Harry studied the man. There was a strange intimacy in the way they talked, as though they both could bring up personal topics now because they shared something that was bigger than their old relationship. He thought it was peculiar that Snape would react in this way to him, when he really should hate the idea of the bond they shared. But when they were alone in the Dungeons, it almost seemed like they both forgot about it.

He wanted to say something more, something that would cheer them both up, but he couldn't think of anything, and all too soon, there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," Snape called, and the Headmaster did just that.

"Severus, Harry." He smiled amiably. "I thought I'd see how you were doing."

Snape had stood from his chair, and Harry got the impression that he wanted to appear poised and strong in front of the older man. He stood as well, suddenly fearing that the Headmaster might think that he had overstayed his welcome.

The old man though, merely gave him a tiny wink before leading Snape into the bedroom, excusing himself with needing a word with Snape in private.

He was sure he wasn't supposed to, but even through the closed door, he could hear their voices as though they were charmed to be amplified for him. Probably, he thought, another effect of the bond, which would prevent Snape from keeping secrets from him.

"Better… I'm… better," he heard Snape say, as though he responded to a query about his health.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "I wanted to discuss with you the matter of a dispatched Death Eater. Did you by any chance read the morning _Prophet_?"

"Yes," Snape replied, a little hesitantly. "About that, Headmaster… The article said that the body was… mutilated, and I want you to know that I am not behind it." Hastily as though prompted by the expression on Dumbledore's face, he added, "I mean the disfiguring after his death. That was not me, I swear it. Bellatrix, most likely, if she was in any condition to do so, or perhaps Goyle. They both share a predilection for those kind of things…"

"Well," said Dumbledore, "it is unfortunate that you did not use an _obliviate_. Tom might choose to make enquiries. What do you know of his next plan of attack?"

Snape sounded hurt. "There was little time left for enquiries between getting my mind frayed open with the _cruciatus_ , and preventing _your_ secrets from seeping through he fractures."

"There is no need for anger," said the Headmaster soothingly. "What did he say then?"

"I apologise," Snape said. There was a long moment of silence, then a sound as though someone banged their hand down on the bedpost.

"I can't remember." Snape's voice was hard, his frustration and distress evident, and the shortness of breath seemed to have returned as his agitation grew. Apparently, Dumbledore also recognised this fact.

"Be calm, my boy," he said kindly, and there was a long sigh from Snape.

"There are holes in my memory," the teacher said. "After… punishments. These days I find that it happens more frequently than it used to…"

"Let me see."

There was silence for the longest time yet, and Harry guessed that Dumbledore was performing legillimency on Snape.

"Severus…" The Headmaster's voice was soft.

"Don't," Snape said. "I don't wish to talk about it."

"It's not doing you any good this repeated exposure. At least you should let Poppy give you a potion."

Snape chuckled humourlessly. "I can administer my own potions, Headmaster. Thank you. I'm the one who brews them, after all."

"Well, and?"

Snape sighed. "The restorative doesn't work as well any more… I've stopped taking it. The side-effects from long-term use are… unpleasant."

"What of the other Death Eaters?"

"They are similarly affected …"

"And you provide them with potions as well?"

A trace of annoyance entered Snape's voice. "Yes."

"Yes," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I suppose it would look suspicious if you didn't."

Harry did not catch any more of the conversation, and neither did he want to. It did not last long though, and the Headmaster left them shortly after with the promise that he would return later in the evening to check on Snape again.

When the door had closed, Snape turned to Harry with a slightly worried look in his eyes.

"Harry…," he said, surprising Harry despite himself by the use of his first name. "Dumbledore informed me that you were the one who… well who managed to heal me yesterday. Thank you for that."

"Yeah, well," replied Harry. "There's no need to thank me. I didn't do anything special. It was just the bond that…" He trailed off.

"I realise that," said Snape. "But I thank you all the same. I also wanted to ask you not to tell anyone about the… affliction I suffered yesterday. I'd appreciate if it stayed between us."

It was an unassuming request, completely free of threat or manipulation and Harry didn't miss a beat in responding. "Of course, Professor. I'd never…" He paused, remembering that he had actually betrayed a similar request when he'd told Sirius and Remus about the pensive-incident. That had been different though; they had already known, and he'd needed to talk about it, and really, it had been more of a threat and less of a plea from Snape that time.

"Of course," he concluded feebly, unable to offer any further reassurance.

It was enough for Snape though, who nodded. "Good."

Harry spent the remainder of the day in the Dungeon. They talked about the little things, Harry's performance in school, his friends and the other teachers, and ate dinner together at Snape's rickety table. Harry read the newspaper by the fire, and Snape spent a lot of the time resting in his armchair. He was mostly quiet, and from time to time, the air of complete exhaustion seemed to take him over, making Harry wonder if the potions he had taken were working as they should. Remembering his own brief encounter with the _cruciatus_ , it had taken mere hours before the residual pain had dissipated, but Snape's hands were still shaking after an entire day…

In the evening, Dumbledore returned, hinting subtly that they should perhaps leave Snape alone for some time, to allow him space to fully recuperate. Reluctantly, Harry allowed himself to be led to the Gryffindor common room.

Before they left, he looked over his shoulder at Snape, who was sitting by the fire with his eyes half-closed.

"Professor," he asked tentatively. "If I wanted to return, would I be able to get in?"

"I've already told you," said Snape without raising his head. "I charmed the door to allow you entrance. Just talk to the whale."

"Oh. Alright." He knew that of course, but it still felt good to know that he was welcome. If he was to be honest, Snape's continued weakness worried him slightly, and he didn't trust the Headmaster to tell him the complete truth about the man's condition.

As they walked the castle halls though, he asked Dumbledore, "Why is he still so tired?"

The Headmaster hummed. "He has been exposed to that curse a number of times," he said. "I suppose, considering that, it is natural that he will be less quick to recover. It is something that will probably affect him for the rest of his days."

He looked down at Harry with a twinkle in his eye. "But I do not think he considers it a major sacrifice, Harry. It doesn't normally affect his everyday life, and he is quite capable of functioning. It only means that if he is exposed to that curse, it might take him a bit longer to fully heal."

Thinking about Neville's parents, Harry asked, "But he does recover, doesn't he? I mean, it doesn't affect him permanently?"

"No," the Headmaster said. "At least not yet. Let's just hope that he won't suffer the curse needlessly or profusely in the future..."

It was not a reassuring sentiment, and Harry was grateful to find his friends inside the common room, seated side-by-side in the sofa by the fireplace.

"Harry!" Hermione's face brightened as he closed the portrait behind his back. "Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you."

Harry threw himself down next to Ron. "You guys have no idea," he said. "I have so much to tell you right now…"

As the fire died down, and the shadows in the corners grew darker, Harry explained to his friends what he had learnt about Horcruxes, and Snape's spying, and the golden goblet.

"He must really be on our side then." Even Ron sounded convinced after hearing about the incident in the Headmaster's office.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it appears that way."

"I knew it all along." Hermione beamed. "I'm so happy for you, Harry. This means we have an actual chance to end this war. Just imagine, with both Dumbledore and Snape helping us, we're bound to succeed in the end."

Elated by his friend's optimism, Harry continued to tell them about his day in the Dungeon, but mindful of Snape's request, he kept the part of the teacher's illness to himself.

…

If you had asked him, Severus Snape would have said that his relationship to one Harry Potter had not really changed at all.

Now, some might call that a tiny bit delusional, and if you, dear Reader are amongst those, I shall endeavour to explain. You see, Severus had always felt honour bound to protect Potter. It was a defining trait of his character. As a young man, he had chosen to carry on with his life with the sole purpose of doing just that –protect the boy at any cost, and make sure that Lily's sacrifice was not in vain. And a mere slavery spell could not do much in the way of changing that.

But if one were to look closer, which in Severus' case meant delving into the recesses of his rusty old heart, one might find that beneath the surface, something had begun to shift. It was nearly imperceptible at first, a stirring in his chest that was both unsettling and familiar at the same time. Yet it steadily grew within him, until it wasn't James' son he saw, but something independent from that, and the name of Potter started to flesh out into a breathing, living being. One with thoughts and feelings to be respected. One who felt fear, and compassion, and who was considerate, and kind.

For Severus, it rekindled an old ache that he had carried within him for all of his life. It was the longing after someone that he could rely on. Someone; a wife or child, to say goodnight to in the evenings. Someone to love, and whom would love him back…


	10. Fiendfyre

At breakfast the next morning, Malfoy was looking unusually sullen, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were grouped together at the Gryffindor table, watching him with poorly concealed mistrust.

"He makes my skin crawl," muttered Harry. "Whatever he's up to is bound to be nasty. I have a really bad feeling about it…"

"Kreacher and Dobby still haven't been able to figure out what he does in the Room of Requirement?" asked Ron. They were sitting apart from the other students, but Hermione had still found it prudent to raise a silencing charm: the _muffliato_ , a spell they had learnt from the Half-Blood Prince's copy of _Advanced Potion Making_.

"No," Harry answered.

"We can't be certain it has anything to do with Voldemort," Hermione insisted. "Really, Harry. I think you're being paranoid, thinking he's a Death Eater." Surreptitiously, she looked over at the Slytherin table. "He's not even of age."

"He will be soon," said Ron, tapping his wand against the plate in front of him. "Maybe you should just ask Snape about it, Harry. He can't refuse you an answer, can he?"

Harry hesitated. "I don't know," he said. "I don't want to pressure him. It would feel too much like taking advantage…"

"This is war Harry," Ron rationalised, ever the strategist. "You can't really mean that you're putting Snape's feelings before finding out what the git Malfoy is up to? What if it's something important?"

"I'm sure Dumbledore knows what is going on," said Harry, recalling the numerous times he'd seen the Headmaster perform legillimency on Snape.

"I think you're right, Harry," said Hermione. "We should definitely trust the adults in this. I'm sure the Headmaster has a plan." She looked at him searchingly. "Have you found out anything about why he has such a strong hold over Professor Snape?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he said. "It's never come up. And I didn't want to ask."

"It almost sounds like you like him, Harry." Ron seemed flabbergasted. "Have you completely forgotten how he used to bully you?"

"Of course I haven't," said Harry, slightly annoyed. "It's just… I don't know. Everything is different now. And Snape, he well… I feel like I know him a little better now. It's almost like he doesn't really hate me anymore. It's weird." He scratched his hair. "In a way it's like he's turned a hundred and eighty degrees, but in another way, I feel like this is who he's been all along…" he chuckled. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"Err, No…" Ron made a grimace.

"Yes you are, Harry." Hermione smiled gently. "I think it's great that you're starting to understand one another. The Professor is… well, he's really bitter and angry, but there is something sad about him as well, don't you think?"

Ron looked confused, but Harry merely shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose," he said. "I'm just really glad he's stopped being so foul…"

Ron snorted. "Of course he would. He's a Slytherin, after all. And it's not like he could do anything to hurt you anymore now, is it? Did you ask him why he's been such a git to you?"

"No…" Harry hesitated. "I guess I should though…"

To be honest, he hadn't given it much thought when he'd spent the previous night in the Dungeon. He'd been preoccupied worrying over Snape's poor condition, and the teacher's mellow mood had disarmed him. When he got some distance between himself and Snape though, things seemed a bit more complicated, especially here, in the light of day and in the company of his closest, most loyal friends. Snape had treated him unfairly over the years. He'd been a bully, an even worse one than Dudley, simply due to his position of authority, and Harry found that he hadn't fully forgiven him for that… The thought left him feeling a little queasy.

Ron frowned. "I don't think you should let him off too easy," he said. "Not only because he doesn't deserve it, but also because I think you need to watch out for yourself a little."

Unexpectedly, Hermione nodded. "I agree with Ron, actually," she said. "It's true that he's been unfair to you. I would hardly expect you to forgive that in an instant, and he shouldn't expect that from you either…" She thought for a moment.

"It would be really helpful to know his true motivations," she continued with a frown. "Especially since you seem to have taken such a…" She trailed off, looking warily at Harry who straightened in his seat.

"What Hermione?"

"I'm just saying that… Well, since you haven't really had any adults standing up for you in your life, you don't expect much from them… It's a bit like it was with Sirius… Well he wanted to help you and all, I'm not saying he didn't… but he…" She groaned. "Oh, Harry. Please don't take this the wrong way…"

Frowning, Harry stared her down in a silent demand to continue. She looked beseechingly at Ron.

"I think what she's saying," said his friend, "is that you haven't really got a good basis for comparison for how an adult is supposed to act towards you. I mean, it's very understandable, what with the Dursleys and everything. It's something that's been missing in your life…"

"Exactly." Hermione seemed relieved that he wasn't angry. "Snape is being nicer towards you, and that's great. It really is. But we just want you to give his actions and motivations some thought before you get… well, before you get attached to him…"

What they were saying made sense; Harry could see that. But the insinuations about Sirius' lacking support, and his own neediness still stung.

"It's not like I'm some lost puppy in need of a home," he said sullenly. "I'm capable of taking care of myself; I've done it all my life."

"Of course," Hermione soothed. "We're not saying you aren't. We just want what's best for you."

"Just ask him," Ron said. "He'll have to tell you. Ask him why he hated you all this time. Maybe the explanation is simple enough…" Ron's expression was supportive, but his misgivings were evident in the small frown lines on his forehead. Hermione nodded.

"Alright," Harry relented. "I will. I'll ask him about it…"

"Good." Hermione smiled. "He owes you an explanation, I think. And he'll probably give it to you."

"Yeah," Ron said. "Make sure he does. And that it's a good one." He looked over at his muggleborn girlfriend, seeming contemplative. "Have you asked him why he's a Death Eater, Harry? I mean, he seems really into that pureblood supremacy shite, at least judging from how he favours them in class."

Recalling Snape's expression from the previous day, Harry hesitated to betray his teacher's trust. He hadn't asked that their conversation be kept confident, but some of the things he'd said, or rather _how_ they were said, seemed somehow too intimate to be discussed casually over breakfast... Then again, these were his best friends, and he knew without doubt that at least _their_ motivations were pure.

"I think he wanted to impress his friends," Harry said, looking away. "He seemed really ashamed about it though, as though he's really sorry." He snapped his head back up, remembering something else. "Oh, I almost forgot. Snape told me he grew up in the muggle world."

"Really?" Hermione's eyes went wide, and Ron gaped.

"Yeah. Strange isn't it?" Harry lowered his voice, despite the silencing charm. "But Voldemort grew up muggle as well. In an orphanage, no less. Dumbledore seems to think that's why he hates muggles so much…"

"But why would Professor Snape feel that way if his parents were muggle?" Hermione seemed perplexed for a moment. "Unless they weren't all that great either…?"

Ron frowned at her. "Harry's guardians are horrid as well, but it hasn't made _him_ evil." He turned towards Harry. "Harry, does Snape seem afraid around you?"

"Err, no," answered Harry confused. "Why would he?"

"He's your bloody slave, that's why," hissed Ron. "If he's got any sense, he'll be acting like Dobby so as not to upset you, regardless of his personal feelings." He chuckled ruefully. "Well, I guess with his personality he'd be more like Kreacher, but you get the gist of it."

Harry shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that… Well, he did call me 'master' for a time, but I asked him not to, and well… he stopped."

"Oh." Ron looked at them both in turn seeming unsure what to make of that.

"That's good," Hermione said. "It would be disturbing if he did. From the books I've read it doesn't seem like it's the norm, but I'm glad the bond allows you two some room to act normally."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, me too."

They fell into silence for a time, watching as the other students begun to make their way out of the Great Hall.

"So, you guys want to go down to the lake," Ron asked. "It's nice and sunny outside, and I don't feel like doing homework just yet."

"Sure." Hermione got up, hefting a heavy bag over her shoulder.

"Actually…" Harry hesitated. "I think I'll go down to the Dungeons…"

In reality, he wanted to see if Snape was feeling better, but he wasn't quite ready to say that aloud. He met Ron's questioning glance.

"I thought I'd ask him," he explained. "About the bullying, that is. Might as well do it right now."

"Of course." Hermione beamed. "It's a great idea, Harry. We'll see you later."

"Do that," said Ron. "Be sure to ask him about Malfoy as well."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, alright. We'll see…"

Harry took his leave, taking care to avoid encountering any of the Slytherins as he made his way down into the Dungeons. In the corridor, next to the potion's classroom, he walked up to the tapestry that covered Snape's door. He hadn't really talked to it before, seeing as he'd chosen to knock the last time he'd come here alone, but he figured that this time, he'd just do as Snape had said.

"Hello..."

The white whale turned its small, beady eye upon him. When it spoke, dozens of tiny bubbles erupted from its large mouth.

"Have you seen the Captain?"

Harry looked around the corridor. He was quite accustomed to the eccentric behaviour of Hogwart's many portraits, as they seemed to have a life of their own in the imaginary world that decorated the walls. There were many paintings here with sea-related themes, which wasn't really all that odd, seeing as the Dungeons extended partway under the lake.

"I don't think so," he replied. "There's no one around in a boat if that's what you mean?"

"Good." The whale did a powerful stroke with its tailfin, which brought it close to the surface of the woven ocean. "He always tries to harpoon me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That's rude of him…"

"It is what it is," said the whale. "What's your business here?"

"I'm here to see the Professor," said Harry. "He told me you'd let me in…"

"I know you," the whale said, watching him. "You're that fawn…"

Harry frowned, confused. "Err, no. My name is Harry…"

"Just so." There was a click from the door, and the whale dove away from the surface. "Well, go on then. I haven't got all day."

Shaking his head, Harry entered the now familiar living room. Snape was in the kitchen, engrossed in a potion that was bubbling merrily over a flaming brazier. His hair was damp and oily from the steam, strands of it sticking to his face, and scattered pieces of paper were lying about the workspace, packed with sloppily written notes and countless corrections.

His every fibre was concentrated on the simmering liquid and Harry had to stifle a laugh. The Professor reminded him acutely of Hermione when she was slaving away over her books in preparation for their OWL's.

"Hello," said Harry quietly, taking care not to disturb his teacher's work. Snape swore foully.

"What's with the cussing?" Harry walked up to the man's side, peering into the greenish-yellow substance that threatened to overspill the battered pewter cauldron.

Snape groaned as he straightened, and tossed the sullied ladle down on the countertop. "Can't seem to get it right," he murmured, rubbing his forehead.

"It looks fine to me…"

"Well, aren't you the genius," said Snape absent-mindedly as he vanished the brew. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and as he flicked his wand, Harry caught sight of the Dark Mark on his pale forearm. He shuddered involuntarily, and Snape looked up, meeting his gaze. As he followed Harry's line of sight down onto his own arm, his expression turned guarded.

"Oh." He pulled the sleeves down self-consciously, taking care to do the left one first.

"What kind of potion was that?" asked Harry, aiming for a diversion.

Snape fastened his cuffs with meticulous care. "I would hardly call this mess a potion," he grumbled. "Couldn't even cure a cold despite all the money I spent on ingredients."

Harry laughed, glad to see Snape recovered and back to his old, grumpy self. He didn't seem nearly as fatigued as he had yesterday, and the way he carried his body seemed relaxed and pain-free.

He hadn't exactly planned it that way, but Harry ended up spending the entire morning in Snape's company. He did his homework on the potion-stained table while Snape laid out the ingredients for another potion, getting muttered advice and tips to his many questions about everything and nothing. Snape was very knowledgeable, not only in potions and defence, and once again, Harry felt glad to have his teacher at his side in the fight against Voldemort.

Later that day, as Harry was reading his transfiguration text while Snape relaxed in his chair after lunch, the fireplace suddenly turned green, spitting out a small piece of parchment. It soared into the room, and Snape caught it deftly before it landed on the floor.

"The Headmaster requests our presence."

Harry looked up from his book, a feeling of suspense forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Is it about the Horcrux?"

Snape stood to put on his coat and cloak. "I presume so. It says we're supposed to meet with him in the forest."

Eagerly, Harry jumped from his chair. "How did he know I was here?"

"I've no idea," huffed Snape. "You might ask him of course. Just don't expect a straight answer."

He reached out to tug at Harry's faded blue sweater. "Don't you have any warmer clothes?"

Harry looked down on his teacher's callused hand. "Err… I could get a jacket from my dorm, I suppose…"

"Do that," Snape said. "It's still chilly out this early in spring. I'll meet you at the main entrance."

As he ran to the Gryffindor tower, an unfamiliar feeling stirred in Harry's chest. What Snape had just done, asking him so casually to wear something warm, was wholly unexpected and strangely heart-warming in its simplicity. The Dursleys had never asked him to wear something warm. Neither had Sirius… And now, his most hated teacher took the care to do just that, and in a way that seemed almost reflexive…

Despite the task at hand, he felt elated, and his feet carried him at a quick and easy pace.

When he re-joined with Snape in the entrance hall, the teacher looked around them furtively. Then, he pulled out his wand and cast a charm, which gave Harry an odd feeling, much like water trickling down his head from the point where the black wood had touched his hair.

When Snape turned the wand on himself, he became invisible, save for a slight shimmer that betrayed the contours of his body. It was a singular experience, and as they walked through the courtyard towards the bridge that led to the forest, watching the students relax on their Sunday off, Harry wondered just how many times Snape had walked among them, concealed like this.

Outside the gates though, there were no one else around, and there, the only sound was from the crunching of Snape's footfalls on the gravel, and his own, lighter treads following closely behind.

Without warning, the teacher stopped, and turned towards Harry.

"This is the end of the school's wards." He brought out his wand and whispered a spell that Harry couldn't make out. A slight shimmer appeared before their eyes, and tiny sparks travelled out in a wide orbit that seemed to encircle the entire castle. "If you concentrate," he gave Harry a shrewd look. "Enough to let your thoughts and emotions go for a while, you might be able to feel them."

Harry closed his eyes, allowing the sun to warm his eyelids. Stretched out before them, was the castle's protective barrier, like an electric current that permeated the surrounding air. He nodded.

"Are you able to feel my magic as well?" Snape's deep voice did not disturb Harry's tranquillity, but after a moment, he opened his eyes wide. "Yes," he said, surprised. "I've never felt anyone's magic berfore."

"You haven't paid attention, have you?" Snape snorted, and continued in a more understanding voice. "Well, I'll admit it isn't always that simple. But I suppose because of the bond we share it will be easier for you to sense my magic than anyone else's."

Harry reached out to the energy that surrounded Snape. "It's different from the wards…" He searched Snape's body with his eyes but couldn't see any visible sign of what he sensed. "And it feels darker… and somehow… sadder." He looked at Snape's wand, not entirely certain what made him think this way, but he knew with certainty that the man before him had used this tool to kill someone.

As though he had guessed where Harry's thoughts had strayed, Snape put the dark piece of wood away.

"I suppose you've never apparated before?"

They had lessons, of course, but Harry was yet to turn seventeen, and had not completed the test.

"No."

Snape extended an arm. "I will take you alongside then. Just hold on to me."

Harry gripped the black fabric of Snape's coat. It was thick and woolly, and Snape's cloak twirled like smoke when he twisted them into nothingness.

They reappeared in a clearing in the forest, covered with last year's weeds and scattered ponds of mud and water that glittered in the rays from the sun. Dumbledore was stood in the middle of it, as though placing himself as far away as possible from the looming oaks that encircled the small field.

The journey made Harry wobble on his feet, but Snape's arm supported him until he was steady, and the older man didn't move towards the grey figure in front of them until Harry had released his hold.

"Headmaster." Snape nodded to Dumbledore as they joined his side.

"Poppy assured me that you were recovering?" asked Dumbledore, placing a gnarled hand on Snape's shoulder. They looked like pillars of grey and black, Harry thought, out of place against the bright day, and the birdsong that reached them through the trees.

"I am well, Headmaster," Snape replied. The Headmaster regarded him for another moment before turning towards Harry.

"I have a theory," he said. "Of how we might destroy the Horcrux. You see, only the most extreme magic can have any hope of destroying something so evil."

"The Dementor's kiss?" asked Snape. "Although we might have some problems with the practicalities…"

"Yes." Dumbledore inclined his head. "And a Dementor will merely trap the soul in question, not disintegrate it." He looked at Harry. "Harry himself destroyed a Horcrux with basilisk venom at age twelve."

Snape's eyes widened and the Headmaster smiled at Harry's confused look. "Tom's diary," he said gravely. "I believe it was his very first…"

Harry shuddered, looking at Snape. "I suppose you don't have any? Of the venom, I mean."

Snape shook his head, but Dumbledore seemed unfazed. "When you killed the basilisk, Harry, you impregnated the sword of Godric Gryffindor with it. As such, I think it might work against a Horcrux in a crisis." He smiled ruefully. "However, I'd rather kill it in a way that allows me to maintain a certain distance…"

Harry could relate to that. "How then?"

The Headmaster drew his long, elaborate wand. "I rather thought we shall try with fire…"

"How is that going to…" Harry trailed off when he saw Snape's look of comprehension and alarm.

"Fiendfyre," explained the teacher. "It is dark magic. A fire that is immensely powerful and can seek out a living target. It is exceedingly difficult to control." He looked at Dumbledore. "You are sure about this?"

"I am," the Headmaster replied. "Though I suggest you step back." He urged them to move closer to the forest with a wide gesture of his arm, before bringing out a wrapped parcel from the pocket of his robe.

"Severus," he called as he laid it on the ground, unwrapping it carefully. "Be prepared. It will probably put up a fight."

He was right. As though the shiny golden cup recognised the danger it was in, it started to emit wisps of black smoke that gradually grew thicker. Soon, the smoggy cloud was large enough to block the sun from Harry's view, rising high above their heads, and everything seemed to go cold and still.

Uncertainly, Harry backed up until he bumped into the solid yet soft form of another body, which grunted in a low baritone. Snape carried with him the scent of slightly stale tobacco and for some reason that felt oddly familiar. Then, a heavy hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and he was grateful for the comforting gesture as the thick smoke moved to surround Dumbledore, and materialised into the horrid, noseless face of Lord Voldemort.

Snape gripped him hard.

"Enemy!" The deafening scream ripped through the air like ice. "How dare you!"

The Headmaster arched his wand then, and an enormous hellish flame burst out of the tip. It seemed almost liquid, forming shapes that resembled the faces and bodies of mystical, dangerous creatures. It rose high in the air, and then barrelled towards the goblet with a light so piercing that Harry's hand flew up to protect his face.

But Snape had taken hold of both his shoulders then, twisting them around to shield him from the flames with his own body, and all Harry could make out from there was the buttons down the front of his teacher's coat and the scream of something dying in pain and horror as he covered his burning forehead with his hands.

When it finally ended, Snape released him abruptly, jerking around in a flat-out run towards the centre of the clearing.

"Dumbledore!"

The Headmaster was kneeling on the ground, wand still aimed before him, but the golden cup was gone without a trace. Snape took hold of the older man's arm, and he allowed himself to be helped back onto his feet.

"Is it gone?" Harry raced to join them, searching the scorched ground with his eyes.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, bending to _scourgify_ his dirty robe. "I daresay it is…"

"That was horrible…"

The old man nodded. "As they are fragments of Riddle's soul, the Horcruxes are in some way sentient. In a way you might say that they an awareness of the things that were on their maker's mind at the time they were formed." He sighed wearily. "I suppose that is why it recognised me…"

"Headmaster, are you alright?" Snape studied him with a deep groove between his eyes, but the concern was merely waved away.

"As good as ever." He smiled. "Better even, now that this grisly task is over and done with. Would you like a ride back into the castle?"

Snape's gaze returned to Harry, travelling up and down as though he wanted to make sure that he too was whole and sound. The dark eyes lingered on the scar that was barely hidden beneath his unruly fringe. Harry realised he had been rubbing his hand over it unconsciously.

"I'll walk," Snape said, still watching Harry. "I want to collect some bark from the willows by the creek…"

Dumbledore looked at Harry in question, but he shook his head. "I'll join the Professor." He didn't care much for letting Snape on his own, though he seemed to have mostly recovered from his ordeal of the previous night.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. "Very well." He pocketed his wand. "In that case I shall see you both later."

The forest seemed unnaturally quiet after the Headmaster had apparated away, but as Snape led them down a narrow path in the direction of the sun, the sound of birdsong and the rustle of leaves on the ground gradually returned.

The way was uneven, with many twists and turns, seeming as though wild animals had made it. After some time, they met a small stream, and followed it into another clearing, flanked by an ancient row of weeping willows.

It was beautiful and tranquil, a bright oasis in the dark where the canopy was open towards the sky. On the ground was a scattered carpet of small plants with one-sided nodding racemes of purple bell-shaped blossoms.

As Snape set to work on his harvesting, Harry splayed out on the ground to soak in the warmth of the sun. He closed his eyes, breathing in the clean air, slowly cleansing his mind of the gruelling sight that had sprouted from Voldemort's goblet. Soon, his breathing evened out and he relaxed.

Being with Snape in this way gave him hope. There was something very comforting about the teacher's presence, which gave him a feeling of security that even the Headmaster didn't quite come up to. Dumbledore was kind and grandfatherly, and obviously immensely powerful, and it was very reassuring to have him in charge of everything that had to do with Voldemort and Horcruxes. But Snape… Snape seemed equally interested in _him_ ; in Harry, the boy, and that was comforting in a way that felt deeper and somehow more fundamental.

Harry smiled a little because he knew now, that somehow, somewhere along the way, Snape had come to care about him…

His hearing must have sharpened when he stopped using his eyes, because sometime later, he became aware of a faint rustle in the leaves on the forest floor. He lifted himself up on an elbow to have a look.

By the edge of the clearing stood an animal, its smooth coat shining like red gold in the bright rays from the sun.

"Snape," whispered Harry. "Look…"

It was a female deer, long-legged and graceful. She was watching them boldly with large attentive eyes, holding her head high, as though trying to pick up the scent of the humans that had crossed her path.

"They like to graze on the bluebells that grow here in spring…"

Harry turned his head to Snape. He had stopped picking bark off the trees and was watching the doe as she took a tentative step towards them.

Quietly, and with slow movements, Harry sat up on his heels and picked a handful of flowers, holding his breath as he extended them towards the beautiful animal.

"She is wild," said Snape. "She won't come any nearer…" But contradictory to his words, he backed up a little, seeming careful so as not to startle her, and sat down on a log some distance away.

And the doe came closer. With graceful movements, she picked the plants from Harry's hand. Her nose was wet and cold. She was near enough to touch, and her skin was warm, and smooth, and she was full of life…

Harry grinned, but when he turned his head back to Snape, the man had gone still and was watching them with such a forsaken wistfulness that it made him falter.

"What's wrong?" He made a sudden movement, and the doe leapt away.

"Nothing." Snape quirked his lip a little. "Nothing, Harry…"

 **A/N**

 **Does it seem to you like Harry is getting under Snape's skin?**

 **Oh, dear…**


	11. Avada Kedavra

The boy had visited him every evening that week. They went for walks and ate their evening meals together. Potter would chatter aimlessly about his day, or do his homework on Severus' kitchen table, or he would merely sit quietly on the thick old rug he kept by the fireplace.

It was all too easy to close their eyes to the task that lay ahead of them, and oftentimes, Severus would even find himself forgetting about the slave bond altogether.

And it was as though the boy forgot as well. Forgot, or wanted to ignore it. There was a vulnerability to Potter that stirred some deeply buried emotions in Severus. The seeking of approval; the need for affection. It was uncomfortable to discover this, because it reminded him of his childhood in Cokeworth, which carried many memories he would have preferred to keep buried.

But unlike Severus, despite his growing up rough, this boy hadn't yet grown bitter and angry, and perhaps he never would. Perhaps he was too much like Lily for that, or perhaps life hadn't yet delivered him that awful final blow…

In any case, he was a better person for it, making even Severus want to try to be better himself.

"Why were you so mean to me?" The boy had asked him candidly. "And please don't say that you never disliked me, because we both know that isn't the truth."

Seeing Severus' frown, Harry had straightened. "Even after you knew that I wasn't some spoilt prince, you treated me like the mud beneath your shoes," he insisted. "Because honestly, you must have known from our occlumency lessons that I wasn't who you thought I was. That I'm nothing like my father."

And it was the truth. From what he had seen inside of the boy's mind, he was far from spoilt and was much more like himself than he had ever imagined.

"I have no excuse," he had said. "It was easier to behave the way I had always done towards you than to admit that I was wrong…" Severus sighed. He found it difficult to apologise, but felt keenly that he owed it to the boy.

"You should know that I'm not proud of myself," he continued. "The way I acted towards you was wrong. I realise that, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"It's alright, I guess," Potter said. "Though I would never have hated you if you'd only treated me like the other students. I didn't need you to _like_ me, you know. I just wanted to feel like I fit in somewhere and you did a great job of preventing that."

"I understand." Severus evaded boy's eyes. "It was difficult enough for me to rethink my actions and beliefs without changing my behaviour towards you. I don't expect your forgiveness, but I'd like you to know that that I haven't thought about you in that way for some time. Especially since…" he trailed off, knowing that the boy understood he was talking about the bond.

Potter nodded. It was his turn to look away. "Well, I'm glad you've changed your mind," he said. "This would have been very difficult if you hadn't…"

Severus merely nodded, unable to put into words what he was feeling towards the boy. What he always had felt, though lately it had expressed itself not as anger, but as a longing ache.

I wish you were my son, he didn't say.

…

What would later stand out to him as the beginning of the end, was when he the following weekend received a summons from Dumbledore, requesting that they meet in the Headmaster's office.

The man had made himself scarce of late, spending long periods away from the castle or locked mysteriously inside his tower. It was obvious that he was working diligently on what little time he had left to locate more Horcruxes, and the fact that _he_ was being kept in the dark vexed Severus to no end. Armed and ready, he arrived with the intention of prying an explanation from his mentor, but the carefully crafted questions in his mind died on his lips the moment he opened the familiar oaken door.

The Headmaster looked washed-out. Grey. _Ill_ , and it made Severus' heart lurch painfully in his chest. What in Christ's name was the man doing trying to fix everything on his own in his condition? He seemed have become much worse in the small amount of time since Severus had seen him last. Had he even taken the time to eat or sleep?

"Ah, Severus. Please, come inside."

The light tone merely prodded Severus' anxiety, reinforcing the feeling of horrifying premonition.

"Where have you been, Dumbledore?" he snapped, watching with warped satisfaction as the Headmaster's face fell. "Busy digging yourself into an early grave? I thought I had sacrificed my freedom to keep you _alive_?"

There was a flash in the Headmaster's eyes at that, but it disappeared almost the moment it had formed, leaving the man looking only tired, and old. Severus breathed out heavily through his nose, the knot in his stomach stroking his irritation with the man. "Accio dittany," he growled, and a small, stoppered flagon soared into his hand from the adjourning room.

He pulled a chair up to Dumbledore's own, and folded up the sleeve that covered the injured hand. His eyes widened at the sight before him.

The blackness had progressed, climbing steadily up the Headmaster's arm towards his shoulder. It was only a matter of time before it reached the point where it connected to his neck.

Not nearly enough time...

Severus bent his head over the Headmaster's hand to conceal his reaction, as he pulled a dropper out of his pocket with shaking hands, and applied a generous amount of the clear liquid to the damaged skin. To his dismay, he could feel the hot prickling of tears that threatened to form.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, placing his healthy hand lightly over Severus' own. "Do not worry yourself over me. I do not fear death."

"I know that," he murmured as he finished the treatment. He did not fear death either, but all the same, he did not want his friend to die. Selfishly, because it would leave him on his own. But also because Potter needed Dumbledore alive as surely as he did. He leaned back, withdrawing his hand from the Headmaster's. "You should have told me that it's getting worse." He could not keep the resentment from seeping into his voice. "I'd have worked harder to develop a remedy."

"And what good would that have done?" The Headmaster rolled his sleeve in place. "We both know there is nothing you can do. While I recognise your considerable talent, Severus, you waste yourself trying to find a cure for me. It is an impossible task with the short amount of time you have at hand, and quite pointless."

Briefly, Severus closed his eyes. He had to concede the point; this task was obviously beyond him. He had worked persistently every day now for months, and all he had to show for it was a stack of burnt-out cauldrons and a rapidly dwindling stock of ingredients. Defeated, he put the dittany away with listless movements.

The old man stood from his chair. "Come, make yourself comfortable. I was just about to open a bottle of old Ogden's."

They moved to the pair of low sofas beside the fireplace, and Dumbledore poured them each a healthy measure. It burned Severus' throat pleasantly, but did not make him feel any better.

"You asked to see me Headmaster," he said. "Knowing you, it was not the deplorable state of your health that you wanted to discuss…?"

The Headmaster tilted his glass around, humming as he watched the twirling liquid inside. "Just what I need," he mumbled. He settled into the sofa opposite Severus, and watched him attentively over his spectacles. "Young Harry seems to have taken a liking to you…"

Severus merely grunted, uncomfortable with the topic, and took a fortifying swig from his own glass. Taking his cue, the Headmaster changed the subject.

"He got hold of Slughorn's memory, you realise?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, he told me as much. Six Horcruxes, it that so?"

"Hmm…" Dumbledore looked at him searchingly. "I have reason to believe there is another."

He startled. "Another?"

"Yes, another." The Headmaster put his drink down. "There was a reason why I told you that Harry's death would be necessary. I suppose now, that you realise what it was?"

Severus gulped down the remaining liquid in his glass and reached for the bottle.

"I see," he croaked. "And you expect the slave bond to take care of that?"

"If the circumstances are right," said Dumbledore. He fingered with his wand, which had been lying on the sofa beside him. "It is my hope that if you are killed, your magic will be able to tear the soul fragment with you. But for this to work, it requires a willingness on your part. An acceptance that you will protect his soul with yours." He looked Severus in the eye. "But I believe you are prepared for this. I have watched you, Severus. You are fond of the boy, I can tell."

There was an uncomfortable tightness in Severus' chest. How much time did he have left to sit in this office listening to the old man? He did not wish for their late night talks to end. And what would happen once Dumbledore was gone? Would he be able to protect Potter on his own? Would the boy let him?

"What of the snake?" he asked gruffly.

The Headmaster stroked his beard. "Have you had a chance to see her lately? Tom hasn't yet called you since…?"

"She was there that night," said Severus quickly. "But no. I had very little time, and was unable to get close to her." He thought for a moment. "Do you suppose there is anything left of the animal in her?"

Dumbledore stood from the sofa and went over to the window to gaze out at the grounds. "Her lifespan is already far beyond that of a normal snake," he muttered. "The trick, I think, will be to lure her away from Tom. If we can do that, we might be able to hit her with fiendfyre, or the sword."

"She is vicious and strong," Severus said. "Do you not suppose it will be safer to try to poison her?"

The Headmaster looked at him sharply. "What does she feed upon?"

Severus blanched. "I've never seen her eat," he whispered. "Except when he uses her to…" He cleared his voice. "Perhaps she doesn't have to?"

"Her body is still mortal," Dumbledore said. "She must."

Severus sighed. "I will look into it."

"Severus." The Headmaster turned back from the window. "There is another reason I asked you here."

The expression on his mentor's face was serious, and Severus straightened. "What?"

"I am of a mind to leave the castle tonight," said Dumbledore. "I have located another Horcrux."

Severus eyes widened and he inhaled sharply. "Where? What is it?"

"I don't know what it is yet." The Headmaster sighed. "But I think there is one in a cave. In England. I intend to bring Harry along. But Severus, I'd like for you to remain behind."

Severus frowned. "Why? Don't you think it's better if I…"

The old man shook his head. "No. This place is remote and isolated. Well-warded, yes. Most likely. But not carefully monitored. There is no reason to expect resistance from Tom or his Death Eaters as he has no way of knowing that I have found out about this place."

"I still think I should come with you."

"I thought you might say that." There was a faint twinkle behind the half-moon spectacles as Dumbledore inclined his head. "But no. I need you in the castle. There has been a certain nervous energy to young Malfoy lately. I believe he must be nearing his goal."

"Really?" Severus shifted in his seat. "I had not noticed…"

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "You have been… preoccupied, I suppose. It is of no consequence. Just do as I say tonight. Remain here. Keep an eye out. Perhaps we can still thwart his plan."

"As you say, Headmaster."

Though he felt considerable unease letting them go on their own, Severus stood from his seat, preparing for a night of patrolling the corridors.

Before he left, Dumbledore touched his arm. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Severus," he said. "I want you to know that I have complete faith in you. That I've had it for a very long time."

There was a gravity to the Headmaster's voice, and a sadness in his eyes, which frightened him, but Severus managed to conceal his confusion.

"I am at your disposal, Dumbledore," he murmured. "You know that."

He had not meant to allude to the debt he owed, and as he walked to his rooms, he lamented his inability to express his deepest thoughts. He had never quite learnt that skill, but the truth of it was that he felt privileged to spend his time in the company of this man. That he valued his opinion, and the trust that he offered, and even, at times, his absurd sense of humour. If Potter was the centre of his universe, Dumbledore was the moral compass that pointed him in the direction towards redemption.

Admittedly, he had not always felt that way, and it had taken a long time for them to get to this point. For the Headmaster's disgust of him to turn in to acceptance -and later- respect.

When he was younger, his own respect for the powerful wizard was born out of fear, but in recent years, they had grown closer, and their tentative friendship was something that Severus had learnt to treasure. There were none other who knew him like the Headmaster did, and the knowledge of that brought a certain comfort. He trusted this man, trusted him with his secrets and his fears, and though he'd had little choice in the beginning, he was glad now that there was one person in the world who knew that he wasn't entirely bad. Who recognised his efforts to rectify his mistakes, and who didn't judge him so hard because he knew that he was trying to do the right thing.

The anxiety he felt for Dumbledore's health kept Severus on tenterhooks the entire evening.

Why, he thought, for the millionth time. _Why_ had the Headmaster put on that ring without checking it for curses first? It was so unlike him, and it tore Severus between grief and anger because he could not understand what had prompted the brilliant man to act so foolhardy. There were very few reasons he could think of that could justify such a terrible slip.

Only one in fact, if he was to search his tattered soul, but no. _That_ was impossible…

The ugly sense of foreboding did not let him go, but he _knew_ that something had gone terribly wrong the moment his Dark Mark burned.

The Headmaster had not returned. He had no idea where he was, or where Potter was, or if Potter was safe. It was his own godawful job to keep him safe, but he had spent the evening waiting vainly for something to happen.

Useless.

He cursed himself and Dumbledore for fools, and let the compulsion behind the burn on his arm lead him along hidden shortcuts through the castle.

His dread was justified. The summons had not been from the Dark Lord, but Bellatrix Lestrange. And she was inside of the school.

…

Harry sprinted through the corridors, heedless of the loud echoing of his footsteps as he chose the shortest route that he knew of from the Astronomy Tower and down into the Dungeons.

 _Severus. Severus is whom I need._

The way was unbearably long. His breath came in shallow, rapid pants as he took the stairs two at a time. But despite his haste, and his worry for the Headmaster, there was also something else on his mind. Something of equal gravity and magnitude, and it nearly made his quick steps falter and stumble.

 _Find him. Wake him…_

Never in his life had he been betrayed like this. He no longer wanted to find Snape, though he knew he would, and must. His heart had taken a cruel beating earlier that night when he had met Sybill Trelawney outside of the kitchens. He hadn't yet processed everything she'd said, but what little he'd understood enveloped his heart like ice.

And this he knew: Snape was not whom he'd said he was. The man had a terrible secret. A secret so dark, it was nearly unforgiveable. As Harry thought of it, even as he ran down the stairs at neck-breaking speed, it burned him with renewed fervour.

Furiously, he wiped at his eyes.

Snape was the reason his parents had died.

…

Albus Dumbledore was dying.

He felt it in his very bones. He was the most powerful wizard alive, but from the moment he had tasted the scorching liquid from the stone basin, he knew that he had met his match. The poison he had drunk in Tom Riddle's cave was killing him as surely as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.

He stalled as Draco battled his demons, taunted by Bellatrix and Fenrir, while he waited for the only person in the world who could help him. He had sent Harry away, fearing the harm it would wreck if he bore witness to what would happen next.

Though he knew he was about to die, the storm in his mind raged not around pain or the afterlife, but on the fate of the child… and the wand. There was no way now, that it would end up in Harry's hands, and his only remaining option was to leave it with the boy's protector. He would only have to trust that the connection between them had grown stronger than the hardships they would face.

"Draco. Do it!"

Bellatrix' eyes gleamed in the light from the moon. Draco trembled, and Albus gripped the Elder Wand tightly in his fist.

Then, a dark shadow made its way up the metal staircase behind Fenrir, and Albus inhaled his last lungful of the crisp night air.

"No…"

Their gazes met across the tower, and Albus cut his eyes at the pale, frightened child at his left.

 _Remember Draco._

Then he looked back up at his spy.

"Severus. Please."

The last thing he saw was the agony in those dark, haunted eyes, and it cut him to the core to know that he was the cause of that pain.

" _Avada Kedavra_ "

Then he knew no more.

…

 **A/N**

 **I saw that the comments (thanks for those!) were on ch. 10. I was trying to fix a few mistakes and thank you, aalens, for pointing them out to me! But I messed up. I'm sorry for spamming you and failing to upload ch. 11. I hope it's in order now.**

 **Anyway, thank you so much for reading. If you have suggestions or comments that might help me improve, I am eager to hear about them because they are incredibly helpful. And if you prefer a PM over reviewing, I'd be delighted to receive those as well!**


	12. Spinner's End

The sparse light from the candle chandeliers cast the great hall of Malfoy Manor in shades of grey. The room was cold, making the Death Eaters shiver despite their heavy cloaks. On the dark marble floor, Nagini slithered in an out between their feet, making thick coils and sinuous curves with her scaly body. Severus did his best to keep her in his field of vision, but it was difficult to concentrate.

The punishment meant for Lucius had fallen on his son, and Severus stood by impassively as his student suffered under the _cruciatus_ curse for the first time in his still short life. All he could do as he worked to conceal his revulsion in the place of honour beside the Dark Lord's right hand was to hope that the lad would not have to experience this ever again.

But the pain he felt for Draco was numbed by that which festered in his veins after his deed of earlier that night. Dumbledore was dead and _he_ had cast the curse.

Had he done the right thing? He did not know. Could there have been another way? He would never learn. All he knew was that he had made himself a killer yet again. Surely, Potter would not understand. Would he even _want_ to understand?

The loss of his mentor was a hollow ache inside his chest. The last time he felt this lonely, he had been kneeling atop a windy hill, absorbing the Headmaster's disgust of him and making it his own. They had not prepared for this. Did they have any hope at all of overthrowing the Dark Lord alone?

The cold never seemed to bother _him_. The snake-like man looked down on Draco, who laid crumpled on the ground.

"No more," said the Dark Lord forcefully, toing the boy so that he rolled over, facing up. "No more shall one of my own defy me. Let this be a warning to all of you."

He pointed a pale finger at the assembled circle, ignoring Draco's pitiful moans. "The next one of you to be caught acting against my order or will, be it intentionally or not, is going to suffer a death so torturous, you will regret the very day you were born. I will tear you to pieces so thoroughly that not even your mothers will recognise your maimed souls in the afterlife. I will rip you apart." He twirled his wand in his long fingers, looking at them each in turn. "Let there be no mistake, I am very much able to."

"But…" His voice softened as he made a wide gesture with his arms. "This is also a time for celebration."

Severus supressed a wince when the Dark Lord turned around to put long-nailed fingers on his shoulder in a mockery of what used to be Dumbledore's gesture of comfort. The hand felt cold even through his clothes, and his stomach rebelled against the approval in the pale blue eyes.

"Severus," the Dark Lord said. "You have done well. I am of a mind to reward you."

Severus remained in place as the Lord passed behind his back with silent, barefoot treads. He allowed the unpredictable man to slip out of his field of view, and turned his head only slightly towards the other side to catch the movement with his peripheral vision.

"Is there something you desire?"

He occluded his deepest wishes before they could form into coherent thoughts. Surely, the Dark Lord expected him to claim the role of Headmaster, but doing so would make it a grim task to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes. The students were on their own. He could not protect them. Not when he was bound to Potter, and to his promise.

"I wish to quit," he said, allowing some of the motivations he had held in his younger days to seep through his armour. "I am well and done with Hogwarts, my Lord."

The Dark Lord chuckled quietly. "Yes… your ambitions always were scholarly rather than administrative." He stroked his chin. "So, you want to dedicate your time to potions, is that right?"

Severus bowed. "If it pleases you."

The Dark Lord's kindness was sometimes worse than his anger. And it was in times like these, when a glimmer shone through of the man who had taken him under his wing despite his half-blood status, that Severus' spying duties were at their most difficult.

Hiding feelings born out of fear was easy. It was something he had done his entire life, making him grasp the concepts of mind protection remarkably quickly, and without much tutoring. But when the Dark Lord smiled and granted his request by ordering him to produce a long list of heinous brews, it was the feelings of queasy relief and morbid gratitude that were the most difficult to occlude.

Later, he would remember little from the following days, when he delivered a traumatised Draco to Narcissa, and took up residence in his childhood home in Spinner's End.

On his own, and haunted by memories of Dumbledore, he spent long days and longer nights in the sole company of his whiskey. When he slept, he had nightmares. When he didn't, he dreamt of the ocean. Of the southerly breeze, and of the gulls, and of a boat with white sails…

But what finally made him shake off his misery was the continuing absence of Potter.

When Draco, Bella, Fenrir and he had run from Hogwarts, he had counted himself lucky for not running into the boy. He knew that he had a lot of clearing up to do. It was unlikely that Dumbledore would have had the time to forewarn Potter, and now, after a week had gone by without sight or sound from him, Severus was getting worried.

He had waited too long. He urgently needed to locate the boy. To explain himself. But as the days went by without a single word or owl, his fear increased that Potter might not want the same thing.

When the summer holidays had started, he put a heavy coat on to brace against the downpour of rain, and went out of his house. It was a great risk, but he knew no safer way to get in touch. He walked to the old, overgrown park by the river with an uncomfortable sense of trepidation. Then, he apparated to Surrey.

In Severus' hometown, you would find broken windowpanes and peeling paint on the houses, and even though the factory had closed down decades ago, there was still the unmistakeable layer of dust and smog on every surface; impossible to get rid of, even in the face of an above-average strength _scourgify_. The river poured muddy water over the carved banks, still littered with many years' worth of rubbish.

Privet Drive was completely different from that. The score or so of detached brick houses were all remarkably similar. Neat and tidy, with sharply cut, low hedges in front of them, and freshly-mowed lawns behind those. In every driveway stood an expensive, clean automobile.

He walked up the front steps of number four and rang the bell of the Dursley residence. The beefy, moustached brute who answered the door cast him one glance and promptly slammed the door in his face.

Severus grunted and rang again. When the door opened several persistent attempts later, it was Petunia.

Adulthood and her general thinness had worked to pronounce her horsey look, but he could still see the Evans traits in her. They were present in the high cheekbones she had inherited from her mother, along with the gentle waves in her hair, and in the fine-boned, dexterous hands of Mr. Evans. But her eyes, though the colour was slightly off, were of the exact same shape as those of Mrs. Evans. Severus swallowed against a lump in his throat.

Lily had also had those eyes.

"Severus Snape…" She squinted slightly, nose crinkling. "Is that you?"

He hadn't heard that voice in so long, it seemed like it belonged to another life. Lily's big sister looked over her shoulder towards the living room, where he could hear faint noises from the telly. Then she turned a watchful eye out onto the street, and grasped hold of his sleeve.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed. "The sheer nerve of you people… I'm not inviting you for tea!"

Severus allowed himself to be pulled inside the hall, out of the neighbour's view. "I don't want any," he said, frowning as he looked around the neatly cleaned room. A picture of a big-boned boy hung on the wall, obviously taken by a professional photographer. There were other photographs as well, but none of them of Potter.

"I'm only here for the boy," he told her, watching with bewilderment as her expression turned into one of wide-eyed fear. She gasped.

"What do you want with my Dudley?" she cried. "He's done nothing to you!"

Severus blinked. "Not _your_ boy, you shrew," he growled. " _Lily's_."

Petunia's mouth thinned. "Well," she said, straightening. "Then I suggest you leave at once. Because he certainly isn't here."

She stilled for a moment, studying him with a critical eye.

"It's been a while," she said. "You weren't at Dad's funeral... I _know_ why you weren't at the wedding." She smiled maliciously. "But that's not why…" She looked up at his face. "Lily mentioned you turned evil or something?"

A tight knot twisted behind Severus' sternum and he felt his expression turn sour. "Where is he then?" he bit out. "The boy? He lives here, doesn't he?"

Petunia shrugged nonchalantly. "He usually comes here around this time. Never showed up this year though."

"And you never thought to look for him?" He jerked his hand out towards her in a gesture of slight incredulity.

"Why should we?" She snorted through her nose. "He's with _your_ lot, obviously. Always left after a few weeks anyway. You should know. You're the ones who take him away, after all."

Severus shook his head, dripping rainwater on the unblemished carpet. Petunia's nostrils flared.

"I take it you two didn't get along," said Severus. "I got the impression from the boy that he isn't too happy here."

"Accusing me now, are you?" There was a flash of anger in Petunia's eyes. "Well, then you don't know what he's like," she said. "The way he sasses us. The constant insolence. The… _freakishness_ -"

"He can't help being magical," interrupted Severus, feeling for some unfathomable reason a need to stand up for Potter. "It isn't fair that you punish him for something that isn't his fault."

"Fair?" Petunia hissed. "Don't you come here lecturing _me_ about what's _fair_." She leaned back, somehow managing to look down on him. "Nothing's ever fair," she continued. "All that matters is taking care of one's own. And that… freak should not have been my responsibility."

He had never understood her when they were children, but there was a pain in Petunia's pale green eyes that Severus-the-adult recognised all too well. He had seen it before, in his own father. But he himself was also intimately familiar with that venomous emotion. Suddenly, he found that he couldn't summon up the anger to contradict her.

"He's just like all of you. Thinks he's better than the rest of us, when really…" Petunia trailed off, but her breath had gone ragged.

"I'd better go," Severus murmured. The conversation made him feel ill at ease, and now he just wanted to get away from it, tactfulness be damned. "I'm going to apparate from here, it'll be quicker."

"The sooner the better." Petunia hugged her elbows and stepped back. "And there's no reason for us to ever see each other again, so goodbye."

"No," he said, taking her in for a final time. "I suppose we won't. Goodbye, Petunia."

He disapparated with a crack, landing close to the playground at the place where he had first met the Evans sisters.

Regretting his rash decision to visit Surrey, he made his way home. Things seemed to be spiralling out of control, and Potter –the foolish boy- was now without the blood protection that his relatives provided him. It was unfortunate, and Severus felt urgently the need to strengthen his own protection of him.

But Potter was probably with the Weasleys now, and going there after him was out of the question. After killing Dumbledore, they were bound to regard him as a traitor, and the small chance he had of explaining himself would diminish greatly in the commotion that would ensue if he were to show up at the Burrow uninvited. What was left of his tattered pride would surely not survive.

If the boy chose, he could easily have summoned him, Severus rationalised. All it took was for the desire to form, and it would compel him to apparate to Potter's side. But as it had not happened yet, chances were that the boy was unaware of this possibility. Either that, or he was so upset he didn't want to…

Severus would just have to wait it out. But with his release from teaching came the opportunity to make some preparations, and his first duty would be to perfect the antidote to Nagini's poison.

…

It wasn't until a few days before Harry's seventeenth birthday, that they finally got some time to sit down and talk. More than a month had gone by since they left school, and the poor Mrs. Weasley, sensing that something big was going on, had showered the three friends with countless chores and small tasks to keep them occupied and away from trouble. There had been very few opportunities to make a plan, and Harry's anxiety grew with every day that passed by in idleness.

He had much to worry about, and his nights had been restless, fraught with dreams about Horcruxes, Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Snape.

Rage coiled in his stomach as he thought about what had transpired. He was angry with Voldemort, and he was furious with Snape, but most of all, he was angry with himself.

They had all warned him. Even Hermione had suggested he order Snape not to betray them. But stupid as he was he had not listened, and had instead fallen into the Slytherin's trap and had been lulled into believing that Snape had been good all along. For a time, he had started to trust Snape, enjoy his company even, and it made the betrayal so much worse.

Well, he knew better now. And he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"Have you found out anything more about this R.A.B., Hermione?" Ron asked as they settled by the well-used table in the Burrow's warm, cluttered kitchen. Everyone else were outside, doing last-minute gardening in preparation for the wedding.

"No," replied Hermione. "But I thought we might ask Remus about it. They'll be here for the wedding, him and Tonks. What do you think, Harry?"

"I can't stand waiting like this anymore," said Harry darkly. "I think it's about time we go and find Snape."

"But he's a traitor," said Ron. "He'll just curse us and bring us all to Voldemort."

Harry shook his head. "Not if we manage to corner him when he's alone. He won't be able to take out all three of us. And we have to stop him as soon as possible. He has probably tattled to Voldemort about the Horcruxes already. Who knows what more harm he could cause if we let him run free."

"You're right, Harry," Hermione said. "And we might be able to find out something useful from him. It shouldn't be too difficult to find his house. It's on a street called Spinner's End. That's in Cokeworth."

Ron's eyes widened. "How do you know?"

"I checked the phone book. When I was with my…." Hermione's voice shook slightly. No doubt, she was thinking about her obliviated parents.

Ron took her hand comfortingly. "It'll be alright, Hermione," he said. "What's a phone book?"

"It's a catalogue over people's addresses and telephone numbers, silly." She smiled as she blinked away a few tears.

"He's actually listed?" asked Harry.

"Apparently, he is." Hermione wiped at her eyes. "You told us he grew up muggle, remember? I figured he had to stick with some of the old habits."

Harry grinned. "You're brilliant, Hermione. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"I'm still unsure if it's a good idea," she said. "Trying to catch him, that is. If only there was a way to know for sure if the bond is still in effect."

"Seems obvious it isn't," Ron said. "Something definitely went wrong with that slavery spell. He would never have dared to kill Dumbledore if Harry had that kind of power over him."

"I don't know how he could do that at all," said Hermione quietly. "I don't understand it. I thought they were close somehow…"

"I guess that's what he wanted Dumbledore to believe," Harry said. "Snape has a special talent for lying and deceit. Just remember what he did to my parents."

"Yes." Hermione bit her lip. "And he did lie about that, didn't he? Or, at least he concealed it from you..."

"Which is just as bad," said Ron. "But if the bond isn't working, how are we supposed to corner him?"

"Can you feel him somehow, Harry," asked Hermione cautiously. "I mean the bond between you?"

"No, I…" Harry frowned, suddenly remembering the time when Snape had taught him to sense the wards at Hogwarts. "Actually…" He closed his eyes, recalling the feeling of Snape's magical energy. "Actually, I do kind of feel something…"

"Can you tell where he is?" Hermione shifted forward in her chair.

"No…" Harry thought for a moment before looking up at her. "But I know he's alive. Whatever went wrong with that bond, when I concentrate it feels as though it's still there…"

"That's creepy, mate." Ron seemed disturbed. "Do you suppose he can sense you as well?"

"I certainly hope not," answered Harry, casting his eyes nervously at the door. "But if he could, why hasn't he shown up to capture us?"

"I dunno." Ron scratched his head. "But if we're going after him we need a way to make sure he obeys you."

"If he's still enslaved," said Hermione, "Harry should only have to order him, and he'll be forced to listen."

"He sure as hell didn't before though," interjected Ron.

"Well, no," Hermione replied. "The book said that the slave masters would allow the bond to inflict pain if a slave was disobedient though…" She trailed off uncomfortably.

Ron looked at Harry. "How do you do that?"

"I've no idea," he said. "I guess we'll just have to make it up as we go. The worst part will be to catch him alone anyway. If we manage that, I'm sure we can overtake him somehow."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "I suppose three against one are poor odds, even for a teacher. Maybe we should try to surprise him in the night? If he still lives at that address, there's more of a chance he'll be at home."

"And alone," said Harry. "We can always go back here, if it's obvious that the slavery spell is broken."

"I don't think we should come _here_ ," said Ron. "What if he follows us?"

"You're right," Harry thought for a moment. "We could always escape to Grimmauld Place though. There's no one there now. The Order stopped using it."

"Are you sure that's safe?" said Hermione. "Snape knows about it."

"Well, we don't have a lot of other options, do we?" Harry rubbed his hands over his face. "Besides, we need somewhere to imprison him until we can give him to the Aurors."

They fell into an uneasy silence. Through the window, Harry could see Fred and George, who were amusing Ginny with something that looked like a gnome-tossing contest.

"So when do we go?" asked Hermione after some time.

"Tonight," said Harry. "We'll do it tonight. If we don't, we're not going to do it at all."

And so, when silence fell over the Burrow, they snuck down the creaky stairs and out into the garden. Everyone else were asleep, and the moon cast a pale, yellow light on the crooked house.

The boys took hold of Hermione's hands, and they disappeared with a crack into the silent night.

They appeared in a narrow alley, facing an immense, ominous chimney some distance away. The only sound was from the whispers of the reeds in the dark water of the river. The streetlamps were broken, casting the three friends in shadows. Silently, Hermione pointed to house on their left.

"He lives _here_?"

Ron seemed unsettled as they took in the dilapidated brick house. The curtains were shut, and the dark windows were gloomy and unseeing in the darkness.

"This is his registered address," said Hermione. "Hurry up. We shouldn't be seen."

"Be careful though, it might be a sham," whispered Harry.

"We won't know unless we check." Bravely, Hermione reached out for the corroded brass knocker. "Be ready to disapparate immediately," she whispered. "If something goes wrong, we'll meet at Headquarters."

Harry gripped his wand with the might of his pent-up anger and pain. Whomever came out of that house, he was ready to give them a piece of his mind.

At last, the door opened, revealing a familiar greasy-haired, hooked-nosed man.

Harry aimed his wand directly at Snape's heart.

" _You_ …"


	13. The Locket and the Chain

If Snape had moved just then, he didn't know what curse might have burst from his wand. But thankfully for Harry's conscience, the man remained utterly still. For several seconds, the teacher took in the offensive stances of his three students. Then his eyes met Harry's.

"There is no need for wands, Harry" he said quietly, but the sound of that treacherous voice only worked to fuel Harry's fury.

"Don't you dare," he snarled. "Don't you _dare_ call me Harry, you filthy murderer! I _know_ what you did!"

Snape's face went blank. He kept his eyes on Harry as Hermione tensely motioned for him to come out of the house.

"Give us your wand," said Ron firmly.

Harry gripped his own wand hard as Snape reluctantly produced the black piece of wood from his pocket and surrendered it to Hermione. Only now did he notice the furious beating of his own heart. The adrenaline rush was heady, making him perceive everything in exacting detail.

The chain around Snape's neck was barely visible through the gap in his tightly buttoned shirt. He took in the man's slumped shoulders, noting without purpose that his fingernails were slightly yellow. There was a weariness in the way he let his arms drop to his sides.

"We have to get away from here," said Hermione. "Headquarters?" She moved to get behind Snape, and Harry nodded, spurred into action by the urgency in her voice.

"Yeah." He jabbed his wand at their prisoner. "Don't you dare think about pulling any of your tricks on us, Snape," he said. "Because believe me, you don't want to find out what happens to you if you do. Now, come here." He held out his free arm. "You'll be apparating with me."

Snape nodded silently, and Harry shuddered as the pale hand gripped his sleeve. It was inconceivable that merely weeks before, he had thought of this man with fondness and concern. Now, all he felt was apprehension and anger, because this was not _his_ Snape.

There was little time though, to reconcile this man with the Snape he had thought he had known, because two heartbeats later, they stood in the small park at Grimmauld Place, facing number twelve across the street.

There were no one else around. They could see light coming from the windows of the neighbouring houses, but the Black family home was silent and dark. Harry pushed Snape in front of him, nudging his wand into the small of his back.

"You first."

They crept across the street, unseen, and cautiously entered the house that was now Harry's.

Suddenly, a whirl of dust rushed towards them, taking on the face of a wraithlike Dumbledore. Dread as cold as ice poured through Harry's veins as he felt his tongue curl up inside his mouth. Before them, Snape froze.

"Headmaster," he whispered, so quietly that Harry almost couldn't hear. "You're dead…"

The phantom vanished, scattering around them and leaving the room in deafening silence.

"What was _that_?" Squeaked Ron at last.

" _Homenum revelio_." Hermione's voice trembled. After a moment, she slinked past Snape. "There's no one here," she whispered. "It was only a pre-set trap. Be quiet, or we'll disturb that awful painting."

Harry had to push Snape in the back again to get the man to move out of his stupor. Once they gathered in the cavernous kitchen, Harry pointed to a rickety old chair, silently ordering the older man to sit.

"What are we going to do with him?" asked Ron. He leaned against the counter top, aiming his wand casually at the teacher. "We should probably give him to the Aurors."

"First things first," said Harry. He felt calmer now that they were reasonably safe. "We need to learn how much damage he's done." He looked down on Snape. "What did you do after you killed Dumbledore? Did you go to _him_?

"I..." Snape was clearly stressed, his eyes darting between the three teenagers that hovered over him. "You mean the Dark Lord?"

" _Don't_ ," Harry yelled, a new wave of anger overtaking him. "Don't call him _that_ , you waste of a life!"

Snape recoiled. "As you wish," he said flatly. "I did. I went to you-know-who. But I didn't betray you, I-"

"I _knew_ it." Harry scowled. "What did you tell him? Does he know we're after the Horcruxes?"

" _No_." For the first time, Snape showed sign of annoyance. He composed himself quickly though, and folded his hands tightly in his lap. "Of course not, I… Harry, we need to talk, there is-"

Harry advanced on him, keeping his voice low and dangerous, enunciating each word clearly. "I told you never to use my name again." He didn't stop until he was very close. Close enough to see that Snape's pupils were distinctly darker than his irises, the tip of his wand touching the man's chin. "Don't speak unless spoken to," hissed Harry. "Now _I'm_ asking the questions, and you better have something of worth to contribute if you treasure your life."

Something died in Snape's eyes. "Of course, Master."

Harry leered, sensing the fear behind that pale mask. "So, we're back to 'master' now, are we?" He snorted. "Don't think for a minute that you can fool us. We _know_ that the slavery spell is broken."

Snape looked like he wanted to say something, but Hermione beat him to it. "Harry," she said apprehensively, "Please calm down. Ask him about the note we found in the locket." She looked nervously between them, eyes wide. "If he knows who wrote it, and tells us, then maybe it means that the bond is still working…"

"Maybe…" Harry took a step back from Snape to dig inside the pocket of his jacket. "You heard her," he said, handing the false Horcrux to the teacher. "What do you make of this?"

Snape's gaze briefly met Harry's. He fumbled with the small lock, and his fingers shook slightly as he unfolded the tiny note. The black eyes darted across the words on paper before going distant.

"Regulus…"

"What was that?" asked Harry suspiciously. "Speak up."

Snape looked up. "Regulus Black. He wrote this. R.A.B. Those are his initials."

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance. "Another Black," said Ron surprised. "Who is he?"

"Sirius' brother." Snape turned his head slightly towards Ron. "He was a Death Eater, he… But I thought…"

"Where is he now?" asked Hermione gently.

"He is dead," Snape said. "The Da…" He quickly cast his eyes at Harry before correcting himself. "You-know-who killed him. Years ago."

She frowned. "Any idea why?"

Absent-mindedly, Snape looked down on the paper in his hand. "Because he betrayed him, apparently. I never knew…"

Harry sighed dejectedly. "If he's dead, then how are we to find the real Horcrux?"

"He must have lived here," Hermione said. "We could try to search the house for clues…"

"Ask Kreacher." Ron nodded towards Harry. "At least he's loyal to you."

"Yeah, as far as we know. Good idea." Harry called out in a firm voice, "Kreacher!"

The beak-nosed Elf appeared instantly out of thin air, scowling at the gathered party. He bowed crookedly to Harry.

"What can Kreacher do for Master?"

"Kreacher," Harry took the forged locket back from Snape, watching as the Elf's eyes widened. "We are searching for a locket, one that looks similar to this one. One that belonged to Vol-"

"Don't," interrupted Snape. "Don't say his name here!"

Both Harry and Kreacher glared at him. "Why not?" asked Harry. "Are you still so afraid of him you-"

"There's a taboo curse on that name." Snape looked at Hermione. "He'll _know_. He'll find us."

Seeming convinced, Hermione shifted her gaze to Harry, who turned sceptically towards the Elf. "Fine then," he said, dangling the locket in front of Kreacher's face. "It used to belong to _you-know-who_."

The look of recognition in the small wrinkled eyes was a dead giveaway. Apparently, the Elf did not own Snape's poker face, and Harry held his breath in anticipation.

"I take it you know where it is, Kreacher?" prodded Ron.

"Traitors and mudbloods…" Kreacher was muttering incoherently and wringing his knobbly hands together, his old face scrunched up. "That is Master Regulus' locket."

"Yes, we know." Ron was getting impatient. "Where is it now?"

Kreacher refused to respond to the question, and his eyes darted warily around the kitchen. Harry took a step closer to him. "Where is it?"

Wordlessly, the creature pointed a finger towards a small closet below the kitchen counter. Harry looked at his friends in comprehension before crossing the floor with hurried steps. He had to crouch down on the floor to be able to see inside, and a large cobweb from the side table in the corner ended up in his hair, but Harry didn't mind.

Because there, in Kreacher's mouldy little lair, beneath a tattered, flee-ridden carpet, _something_ gleamed. He touched it. Then picked it up, extending it at eye-level.

The _real_ locket dangled before him, suspended in yet another golden chain.

Back and forth.

He watched it, transfixed. It seemed to suck him in with the pull of gravity. Making his senses keen and sharp. But the sound and movement of the others in the room were but tiny annoyances to him now. Like the buzzing of a fly. It was only him, and the locket. The emeralds on the snake glinted. They made it seem as though it slithered behind the auburn crystal. He could not tear his eyes from it, wasn't even sure if he wanted to. He could hear faint whispers coming from it…

"Harry?"

He blinked.

Hermione was standing right next to him, regarding _…it…_ with a frown between her eyes.

"Is this the real one?" She crouched down.

"Yes." The sound of his own voice felt foreign.

With shaking fingers, he put the golden chain around his neck, securing the Horcrux in place beneath his shirt.

"Definitely."

"Good." Hermione sighed. "Progress. _Finally_."

They stood, and turned towards the others. Snape and Kreacher were watching them attentively. Ron still held Snape at wand-point.

"What do we do with it?" he asked nervously.

"The sword is at Hogwarts," answered Harry. "We'll contact McGonagall tomorrow. She's acting headmistress now that…" He glared at Snape.

The man cleared his voice. "Actually, she isn't," he said cautiously. "At least not anymore…"

Harry's scowl deepened. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"The Da… You-know-who has taken over the school," Snape explained. "There are Death Eaters in charge now. Amycus Carrow is the new headmaster."

Harry felt his blood boil. Hogwarts was his _home_ , and now, a filthy Death Eater had seized it? He moved towards Snape, wanting to shake him, to… _hurt_ him, but Hermione had gently taken hold of his arm.

"That leaves us with fiendfyre," she said, observing him anxiously. "But Harry, I don't think either of us can manage that spell safely..."

"Snape might," said Harry, somewhat calmed by her touch. "If we could only trust him, that is." He looked back at the teacher who hadn't left his seat. "But I don't think I'll ever want to give him back his wand…"

"At least not right now," Hermione conceded.

"It's a little late in the evening though." Ron rubbed a hand over his face. "What are we going to do with him tonight? I'm not bringing him back home to the Burrow." He put his hand on the back of Snape's chair, making the teacher stiffen.

Harry sighed, only now realising how tired he was. "We need to find a way to test the bond," he said. "Tomorrow though, not tonight. We'll lock him up inside the library."

He turned to the Elf. "Kreacher, you'll keep guard. Stay in there and make sure Snape behaves. Don't let him out on any account."

Kreacher reluctantly dragged his eyes up from the place on Harry's chest where the locket rested beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. "That is not necessary, Master," he croaked.

"Why?" Ron's eyes widened in surprise. "What do _you_ know about it?"

"Master only needs to tell it," the Elf said, not deigning Snape as much as a glance. "It has to do it's master's bidding. The chain makes sure of that."

"The chain…" Hermione looked at Snape, who was watching them warily. His hand had jerked slightly towards his throat when Kreacher spoke. "Is it still there?" She moved a little closer, almost as though she wanted to look beneath Snape's collar. He scowled fiercely, stopping her in her track.

"Yes, but it was there before, too," said Harry, frowning at Snape in warning. "And it never stopped him from killing Dumbledore…"

"Did Master order it not to?" asked Kreacher. "If so, the chain should have killed it before that."

"Well, no…" Harry rubbed his forehead. "I didn't, but…"

Kreacher nodded once, as though that settled things. "Then no guard is necessary."

"You'd better be right about this," muttered Harry as the creature slinked towards his closet. He sighed. "Be it on your head if you're wrong…"

"Kreacher is not wrong." The Elf turned around to Snape. "Go to the library," he ordered. "There is a chair by the window. Stay in it."

Snape seemed annoyed at first, but then something shifted in his expression. The furrow between his eyes deepened and he looked at the Elf with something that could only have been horror. Then he bowed low to Harry, and to their utter amazement, to Kreacher.

Snape left for the library, the old floorboards creaking ominously with each heavy tread. By the time he was gone, Kreacher had already disappeared.

"Are the elves above slaves in rank or something?" Ron scratched his hair, befuddled.

"It certainly seems like it." Hermione hugged her elbows, looking haggard with her bushy hair. They all did.

"And it seems as though the bond is still in effect," she said. "That's probably for the best. If we just take the right precautions, Snape could be a useful ally. But apparently, we need to be really careful with what we ask him to do."

"And what we tell him not to do," added Harry darkly. He sat down at the long table. "But I'm not convinced of it until we get some real evidence."

"Do you think he's just bidding his time?" Ron asked. He had put away his wand now that Snape had gone and was sitting on the kitchen counter, long legs dangling. "That he's waiting for the right moment to strike?"

Harry cast his eyes distrustfully at the door where Snape had exited moments before. "Maybe… But if the bond is still working, he could be dead useful."

"There has got to be a way for us to find out," Hermione said. "Perhaps if we took a closer look at that chain…"

"There's a simple enough way," said Ron sardonically. "Make a trap. We give him an opportunity to betray us. If we catch him at it, we'll know it isn't working."

Harry snorted in dry amusement, but Hermione cringed. "Maybe there are some books in the library," she said in a brittle voice. "The Blacks are an old, pureblood family. They probably have many ancient books. Perhaps there is a spell or something that will show us-"

"You know," said Harry, "there might actually be a way…" He looked at both his friends thoughtfully. "Remember how I told you the bond gave him headaches when he insulted me?"

"Yeah?" Ron frowned.

"Well, what if I provoked him? Enough to make him snap, I mean."

Ron chortled. "That shouldn't be too difficult."

"Yeah. Back at Hogwarts he even had blood coming from his nose once, just for thinking of me disrespectfully." Harry did remember feeling unsettled and concerned when that had happened, but it had been before he knew the extent of Snape's corruption. "I bet it would happen again if I push him to it," he said. "Then we'll know for sure."

"This is not funny, you two!" Hermione looked appalled. "It's just… barbaric!"

"And killing Dumbledore and my parents is perfectly civil, of course?" Harry's voice was hard, and Hermione's eyes widened.

"No! I… That's not what I meant at all, Harry." She blushed. "I just… I just don't think we should sink down to his level, that's all…"

Harry shifted. "Sinking past Snape would be very hard…"

"But Kreacher sounds awfully convinced," persisted Hermione. "And when we cornered the Professor back at Spinner's End, he didn't even try to put up a fight…"

"I'm with Harry," said Ron, shrugging at her apologetically. "If we are to keep him, we must be absolutely certain."

"Yeah," said Harry. "But it means we'll have to stay here for the rest of the night. We can't go back to the Burrow, at least not all of us. Someone has to watch Snape. No matter what Kreacher says, I'm not about to let him on his own."

"Agreed," Ron said. "And we need to find a way to destroy that locket." His eyes flicked to Harry's throat where the locket's chain disappeared beneath his clothes. "For some reason, I'm not inclined to bring _that_ back home either." He nodded in Harry's direction. "Especially to the wedding. It feels too much like a bad omen. Maybe we can get Snape to destroy it tomorrow?"

"Hopefully." Hermione shivered. "But are you sure he can control the fiendfyre, Harry? It requires an extraordinary amount of power. It's not something that an ordinary wizard can usually do."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know a thing about that spell, but the way Snape loves the Dark Arts makes me pretty sure he can do it."

"I guess that means we're all staying," he added after a moment's silence. They stood from their seats, and Harry stretched. "I'm taking Sirius' old room."

Ron groaned. "Mum's going to throw a fit."

"We'll send her a letter or something tomorrow," Harry said as they made it out of the kitchen. "Let her know we're okay."

"Yeah. We'd better… Night, mate." Ron put an arm around Hermione's shoulders, guiding her up to the guest room on the first floor.

Harry lingered for a moment after they had gone, stealing a peek inside the library on his way upstairs.

Snape was sitting in the darkness by the window, gloomy and silent. The light from the hall caught in his eyes, which were partly obscured by strands of shoulder length, greasy hair. He didn't move. Wordlessly, Harry snapped the door shut and climbed the creaky stairs to the top floor. There, he laid down on the bed, fingering the locket idly through his shirt.

The narrow bedroom was decorated in Gryffindor colours, bearing every sign of having belonged to a rebellious teenager. The posters on the wall that he remembered from the last time he'd been here were still in place. Along with them, the framed photo of the Marauders…

Choosing Sirius' old bedroom had apparently been a mistake. It brought back the memories of what could have been, and soon, Harry was fighting back the burning of bitter tears.

Seeing Snape again had affected him more than he wanted to admit, and the pain of being ruthlessly betrayed by someone he'd thought had started to care for him stung sharply. The thing was that with this person being Snape, it absurdly made everything much harder.

For years, he'd rammed his head against the rigid disdain that was Snape's rejection. And it had felt so good to know that maybe, just maybe, the man hadn't hated him after all. That finally, he had managed to get through to him and receive the devotion that he hadn't even known he had craved. But with Snape's betrayals, the tentative feeling of belonging had shattered like glass, and now he would just have to deal with the pain of loss. Again.

At least he knew for sure that he wouldn't allow Snape to get the better of him once more. He'd had enough, more than enough, of people who hated him. It was why he hadn't returned to the Dursleys even though Dumbledore had insisted he did.

Dumbledore…

Snape did not seem repentant. He had looked worried of course, anxious even, but that wasn't really all that strange considering he'd been trounced and captured. Any Slytherin worth his salt would be concerned about his own hide in that position. For all the deaths and suffering he had caused, he didn't regret it. Harry was sure of that, and it hurt.

Snape had lied. He was an elusive, treacherous murderer, and it was impossible to know if he was telling the truth. His eyes were so emotionless, his face a pale, dead mask, and several times, Harry had the feeling the man was occluding.

Should he even be able to if the bond was still in place? Wiping at his eyes, he reminded himself to order Snape not to in the morning…

…

In the library, Severus tried and failed to find a comfortable position in the musty armchair that was his prison for the night. He was getting too old to sleep like this, and silently, he cursed the Elf, Kreacher. The incident with that little cretin had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, likewise the harsh pain from the bond following the Elf's order.

Apparently, Kreacher followed the law of all oppressed people – he kicked downwards. In fact, the only Elf to treat him with something other than disdain or studied indifference after the spell had been Lucius' old Elf, Ninky…

But his problems did not end there. For the last month or so, Severus had been in denial. Had worked very hard in fact, to forget the bond and his worries, and now they had come back to kick him harshly in the teeth.

They had a locket to destroy. A snake to catch. But those were only the beginning of their quest, and he was already in dire straits.

Potter hated him now. It was evident in his every move and word, and Severus felt cast away. Like a broken toy once the child is done with playing.

But he couldn't allow himself to give up. They had not yet gone too far. He needed to talk to Potter properly, and make him see why he had killed Dumbledore. If he could only get the boy on his own, he might still have a chance to make him see the truth.

Make him forgive…


	14. The Thief

It was just before noon when Hermione Granger woke.

Light was shining through the moth-eaten curtains of the small guest room, making millions of tiny specks of dust in the air shimmer and twirl where the rays from the sun shone through. She raised herself up on an elbow, watching Ron fondly as he slept.

Over the past year, he had grown into his lanky frame, and was starting to look more like a man now than a boy. Carefully, she brushed some of his ever-growing hair from his face before extracting herself from his arm, appreciative that he was such a heavy sleeper.

She climbed out of the bed and put her shoes on quietly. There were questions that needed answering, and she wanted to ask them without interruption.

On an impulse, she pulled out Professor Snape's wand from the pocket of her jacket, tracing the carvings on the handle with a finger as she examined it. It was heavier than her own vine dragon heartstring, and quite a bit more careworn. Experimentally, she pointed it at her wristwatch, which lay atop the bedside table.

 _Accio_.

Nothing happened, and she put it away to do up her hair.

For as long as she had known him, Professor Snape had been cold and condescending towards her, uncaring that she was one of his top students. She had never really thought that he was cut to be a teacher, and for a long time, it had puzzled her that he would remain in a position he seemed to detest. But as she grew older, she learned that his favouritism of Slytherin house might have –at least partially- been born out of obligation, and that his disregard for her was mainly rooted in her association with Harry.

The reasons for that though, were not entirely clear to her. Although Snape's spying duties would necessitate a deceptive façade, there had been something far deeper behind the teacher's animosity towards her friend. It had been personal.

Because what she had understood, and which the boys had not, was that Snape's contemptuousness was a defensive mechanism. He was, she thought, far more insecure than he let on, and what better way to conceal just that, than by making other people equally insecure?

Harry most of all.

But all of that had changed when the enslavement spell had been cast. For some reason, Professor Snape seemed willing to give up his life for Harry –he had probably been willing to do this all along- and this revelation had changed the dynamic of their relationship in such a way that Snape was forced to drop his protective pretence.

Yes, it had been personal. Very personal. And that was why she had been so shocked when he had killed Headmaster Dumbledore.

But in the back of her mind was a sneaking suspicion that all was not as dark as it seemed. Snape had always stood out to her as a man of misery and yesterday, she had seen both despair in his eyes, and sorrow. The hurt that Harry's anger had caused him had been written plainly on his face, indicating to her that though he might not be a pure or innocent soul, the dedication to Harry was still alight within him.

With a final look at Ron, she snuck out of the room and down the stairs, pausing on one of the lower steps to ensure that Harry was still asleep. She brought out her wand to cast _muffliato_ on the creaky old door, and then she crept inside the library.

The Professor stirred as soon as she crossed the threshold, raising his head from where it had rested against the back of the armchair. She approached him slowly, unafraid.

"Hello."

"Miss Granger." He straightened in his seat.

She paused by the fireplace, some fifteen feet away from his chair, taking in the countless books aligning the walls and giving Snape a moment to collect himself. He had obviously been asleep.

"I have questions," she said.

He nodded silently.

When coming down, she had intended to clarify the matter of the slavery spell, but seeing him like this left no doubt in her mind that it was still active. It was apparent that he had not left his seat, and he looked oddly diminished. He had aged quite a bit since the time -so long ago it seemed to her- when he had taught them potions. At that moment, he seemed almost… traumatised.

Yes, she wondered about his mental state, but there was little time to beat around the bush. The boys would not sleep much longer.

"Why did you kill him?"

Despite her concern, it was difficult to keep the bitterness from her voice.

The hand that rested in Snape's lap twitched slightly, but it was the only tell of his discomfort. Though rusty from sleep, his voice was completely even.

"He asked me to."

"Why?"

She moved to sit on the sofa opposite him.

"I don't know," he said, watching her. "Something must have happened when they found that faux Horcrux." He paused. "In any case he was already dying."

"Was he sick?"

"Mm." Snape held her gaze. "He was cursed. His hand, he…"

"Oh."

There was a small, dusty coffee table between them, and carefully, she laid her wand atop it. It was out of his immediate reach, but the meaning of her gesture would be clear.

His eyes travelled from her wand to her face. She smiled as he blinked and took a deep breath.

"Professor," she said, "why did you agree to the slavery spell?"

"To protect Potter," was the simple reply.

Hermione could not imagine what that must be like. Nor could she picture Snape wanting to live out his days enslaved, were he to survive the duel against Voldemort. This could only mean he expected to die.

She cleared her voice. "Is this the only reason?"

Snape looked away. "The Headmaster he… He did me a great favour once. I owed him. Well, I suppose I still do…" His eyes met hers again.

"Look, Miss Granger," he said, "these are very private matters. Surely you understand that I don't feel comfortable relaying to you my most intimate thoughts?"

"Yet you want to make a good impression on me," she said, "so that I don't slander you to Harry."

Snape stilled, and she held up a hand.

"Don't worry. I didn't mean that as a threat."

He watched her warily and she broke eye contact, pulling on some loose threads on a cushion.

"I think you should tell Harry your reasons though," she said quietly.

He did not respond, making her feel slightly foolish. Surely, he would have explained himself if given the opportunity, and it was obvious that Harry was not yet ready to listen. His behaviour yesterday had been strangely aggressive, and there had been a disturbing darkness in his eyes…

"What's going to happen when you-know-who calls you?" she asked.

"That depends on my Master," he said, making her wince.

"Does he still think that you're a loyal Death Eater?"

"Of course." Snape frowned. "I would most likely have been dead if he didn't."

"I see."

She sighed, watching his arm where she knew the Dark Mark lay hidden beneath his sleeve.

"I'll be sure to remind Harry about that..."

He nodded. "You should advise him to let me go back. It might be our best chance to get close to Nagini."

"That sounds dangerous…"

Somewhere in the house, a door slammed shut.

From his chair, Severus watched his newfound ally reach for her wand. Either, he thought, the strains of war were already doing a number on her, or she was wary of what Potter and Weasley would do if they found them talking.

The girl had been unusually quiet and contemplative throughout this whole ordeal. Granger seemed to have a perceptiveness that he could not help being grateful for, along with her keen sense of justice. He knew she probably did not like him. He had not treated her well in the past, and with a prickle of guilt, he thought himself lucky that she was not the kind of person to bear grudges...

Suddenly, both of them jerked in their seats, startled by the sound of Walbruga Black's piercing scream.

"Thief! Dishonourable thief! Filthy lowlife scum!"

Granger's wide eyes met his as she jumped from the sofa.

For a brief moment, panic caught Severus in its paralysing grip because he couldn't find his wand. Then, he remembered having surrendered it to Granger the previous night.

"Get Potter," he said. "I can't help you from here."

She nodded and disappeared, leaving him to his confine. Several long moments later, she returned with her friends in tow. In the meantime, the painting had quieted. Granger pulled the boys inside the library and cast a silencing charm.

"There's someone here," she whispered, watching the stairway through a small gap in the door. "On the ground floor. I heard noises from the kitchen." She cast her eyes at Potter. "Harry, set free the Professor."

Potter was barefoot, and wearing only a thin short sleeved pullover over his jeans. His hair was messy and his glasses crooked. He seemed confused for a moment, looking at her blankly, but then reality seemed to kick in and he turned to Severus.

"You can get up," he said.

Severus stood, heart sinking with hearing the tension in the boy's voice. Boy... Well, he was a young man now, turning seventeen in just a few hours –and how quickly those years had gone by…

Foolishly, Severus had hoped that a good night's rest, and some time for contemplation would have settled Potter's temper, but apparently, he had been overly optimistic. Potter seemed no less distrustful than before, and the knowledge that he had gained that hard-won trust and lost it was difficult to endure.

He stretched subtly to ease the pain in his back before joining the three teenagers. He hoped that he would get a bed if they were forced to remain here for another night.

Granger turned to face him, allowing Weasley to take over her post by the door. "Professor, your wand." She held out the black piece of wood to him.

It took all of his willpower not to snatch it immediately from her hand. Instead, he looked at Potter.

The boy glared. "Hermione," he said. "Wha-"

"Harry!" she snapped. "Obviously, Kreacher was right!" She pointed at Severus. "Professor Snape stayed in that chair all night. If the person in the kitchen is a Death Eater, then we mustn't be seen!"

Potter regarded Severus' dishevelled clothing, eyes suspicious behind the round glasses.

"I don't…"

There was a thump from downstairs. Potter and Granger both eyed the door uneasily.

"Fine," hissed Potter. He watched as Granger returned the wand, directing his next words at Severus.

"Go down there and find out who it is. If they are enemies-" he indicated his friends with a nod of his head. " _Our_ enemies - then get rid of them."

He turned to Granger. "And you don't have to call him professor, Hermione," he said. "He's not our teacher anymore!"

Granger frowned and Severus made to leave, but he stopped when the tip of Potter's wand dug into his stomach.

"Don't betray us, Snape," he said. "Don't lie, and don't occlude against us." He looked at Severus hard. "You will do everything within your power to aid us, and if either of us is threatened in any way, you will not hesitate to protect us with your life."

Granger seemed uncomfortable with Potter's demands, but apart from the bit about not lying and occluding, the order was a mere summary of his life's purpose since that fateful day back in '81.

"I will," he replied, eyes already trained on the door. Potter moved aside.

"Be careful," said Granger, and before leaving the room, Severus cast a disillusionment charm, indicating for the teenagers to do the same.

Severus had expected them to wait for him in the library, but to his frustration, the rustling of clothes behind him indicated that they were following as he made his way downstairs.

Pausing in the narrow, dusty hallway, he could hear muffled sounds from the clinking of metal and glass coming from the kitchen, solidifying his suspicion about who the intruder might be.

Despite Granger's squeak of protest, he cancelled his concealment charm and entered the room in the manner he had used to intimidate his students at Hogwarts. The old door rattled on its hinges as he threw it open, causing a short, bald, scruffy-looking man to startle and drop what was in his hands. Silverware and crystal glass scattered all around them on the floor, and Mundungus Fletcher yelped in fright.

"Fletcher." Severus advanced on him, wand raised. "Are you alone?"

Fletcher's face twisted into a grimace of unadulterated fear. Without answering, he dove across the room with astounding swiftness; knocking over several chairs in the process and making Severus' impediment jinx miss its target as one of them hit him on the shin. In the commotion that followed, the man somehow managed to get past the three teenagers, diving towards the short end of the room.

Severus dared not use his wand in that direction out of fear of hitting Potter. Instead, he raced after Fletcher, knocking roughly into something invisible on the way. He regained his footing just in time to see a flash of green flames from the fireplace.

"Shite."

Potter appeared out of thin air behind him. "What?" he cried. "He's gone?"

"Yes." Severus lowered his wand.

"You frightened him off," said the boy. "Why did you reveal yourself? He thinks there are Death Eaters here now."

Someone scoffed behind them. Weasley. "Well, he isn't wrong."

They turned around to see the lanky teen helping Granger up from where she was sprawled on the floor, both of them visible now.

"You didn't have to knock her over, Snape," Weasley snapped. "It's bad enough that you let that scumbag get away. What was he doing here anyway? Stealing cutlery?"

Severus watched the girl. She was rubbing a bruised elbow, but seemed fine apart from that. "My apologies, Miss Granger," he said, unwilling to alienate them even more.

"It's nothing," she said, but Potter rounded on him.

"Did you do that on purpose?" he asked. "Letting him escape like that?"

The distrust in the green eyes made something inside Severus twist, a painful blend of hurt and anger. He didn't know what to say, unsure if there was anything he _could_ say, which would ease the tension between them. He desperately longed back to the time when the boy had spent his nights in Severus' rooms, lighting up his lonely, miserable existence…

"What could he possibly gain from it, Harry?" Granger asked. "Fletcher is a member of the Order."

"I don't know," Potter said, evidently frustrated. "For all we know, he might _want_ the Order to come here. Maybe to give him a chance to escape. And if they do, we'll have one hell of a time getting rid of them. Dumbledore asked us not to reveal anything to anyone about the Horcruxes."

"We need to block the floo." Weasley let go of Granger to examine the fireplace, apparently eager to avoid the embers of Molly Weasley's famous temper. "Harry is right, it would be better to let them know on our own terms."

"Snape," said Potter. "Do as he says. Then put up warding on the entrance." He scowled. "If you try any funny business, you'll be sorry."

Severus sighed. It seemed like he had to get used to Potter's unnecessary threats. He was already familiar with the feeling of being distrusted, but that was usually from people who detested him anyway. Potter was –had been- closer to him than that…

"Is there something you would like to say?" Potter was watching him with a dangerous look in his eye, and Severus realised that his moment of contemplation had been mistaken for disobedience.

"No," he hurried to answer, "I… No."

"Harry, _don't_ ," said Granger. "He's clearly…" She trailed off with an apologetic look at Severus.

"He's clearly plotting the best way to get back to his beloved _Dark Lord_ ," Potter said. "Of course the greasy git is upset at being cut off from his Death Eater friends. He'd be over the hills and far away if it hadn't been for that spell."

"Well, at least you're able to recognise that the bond is still active!" There were red patches on Granger's cheeks, and her hair was escaping the clip she used to fasten her ponytail.

Potter looked like he had more on his mind, but Weasley seemed to have calmed down.

"It'll be alright, Harry," he said sensibly, straightening to turn his back on the hearth. "Snape'll take care of the floo. Now you don't suppose Kreacher could bring us some food from Hogwarts?"

Potter took a deep breath, turning his back on Severus. "Yeah, I… Yeah, Ron. Good idea. I'll ask him."

Granger and Weasley looked relieved and the three friends disappeared, leaving Severus on his own. For a long moment, he watched the door to the kitchen where the boy he had almost dared to wish was his own had disappeared.

His hope was slipping, running through his fingers like water; thinner with every moment spent in this Godforsaken house.

If he hadn't been required to do anything Potter said, he would have just taken the boy. Sat him down for a one on one, by force if necessary. He would even have used legillimency if he had to. Anything to get his point across.

But that just wasn't possible now. Potter was in charge, and Potter seemed convinced that he was the wicked one, even more so now than he had ever been at Hogwarts. And as far as he knew, the boy wasn't even aware of the worst thing that he had done. Of his role in the prophecy and his accountability in the deaths of Potter's parents…

It seemed so hopeless.

Miserable, Severus went about doing his chore. Sealing the fireplace was not a difficult task, but he spent some time on the warding, making sure that the windows were protected, as well as the door.

After, he seized the opportunity to use the bathroom. While washing his hands, he glanced at himself in the mirror, catching sight of the tattoo around his neck.

He had nearly grown used to its presence by now, the shimmering golden band that crossed his throat almost as familiar to him as the black mark on his lower left arm. They were similar the two, yet opposite. Both of them were ruling forces in his life. Both of them would remain on his skin from here on out…

When he was done, the smell of tea and breakfast drew him in the direction of the kitchen. He paused just outside of the door, listening to the voices of Potter and his friends.

"Old Snape seems a bit out of it," he could hear Weasley say. "He's taking this harder than I expected."

Potter was making a scoffing sound. "He got caught," the boy said. "He'll have to answer to you-know-who. Of course he's miffed. He only cares about himself and his own greasy hide."

"Well…" Weasley hummed through a mouthful. "I don't know," he said. "He's very quiet now though. It's almost as if he's sorry."

"He's not sorry!" Potter's voice grew louder. "He's selfish and treacherous and evil! How can you not see that?"

Severus was well aware that this was what most people usually thought of him, but the words from Potter's mouth hit him like a bucket of cold water nonetheless. He drew back a step, bracing himself on the wall.

"Harry," said Granger cautiously, "how are you feeling? You seem awfully tense today…"

"What, Hermione?" Potter's voice. "Honestly! What a stupid question! Of course I'm tense. I'm tense because there's an evil dark lord at large! I'm tense because it's my job to stop him! I'm tense because there's a Horcrux around my neck, and because I have a disloyal slave lurking around, waiting for the opportune moment to betray me! What do you think I'm feeling?"

Apparently, the two of them must have been at odds all through breakfast. Severus was surprised to hear the anger directed from Potter towards his friend. Neither of them were usually the type to take up arguments.

"But we're in this together," said Granger.

"Then why won't you come with me?" asked Potter.

"I told you," Granger said. "I don't think going to Godric's Hollow is a good idea. You-know-who will expect it. It's too dangerous."

Potter mumbled something that Severus couldn't make out. Then, Granger continued, "But like I said, Harry, you have to let the Professor return to the Death Eaters. Maybe he can get us some information on what protection is put up there."

Severus decided that it was time to join the conversation. He had wanted to discuss his spying with Potter alone, and greeted Granger with an annoyed glance as he sat down by the kitchen table, helping himself to a buttered roll. Potter shot him a blazing glare.

"Make yourself at home, Snape," he said icily.

"Professor," Granger said, frowning at Potter, "I was just telling Harry that you-know-who still thinks you're loyal to him. Don't you think it's a good idea if you continue spying and report whatever the Order needs to know to Harry and us?"

"No." Severus put his food down to cross his arms in front of his chest. He ignored Granger's surprised stare. "There is no reason for you to know every grizzly detail," he said. "You are teenagers. I refuse to report to you. If something big comes up, which the Order needs to know, I have other ways to get information to them."

"But what if there's something important that _we_ should have known about?" asked Granger.

"Then I'll let you know, of course." Severus nodded at her. "I agree with you that it's the best way to get information on the other Horcruxes, but we need to be careful. If we act on every move the D- that You-know-who plans, he'll know there is a traitor in his ranks."

Potter tilted his chair back on two legs, smiling.

"Could you be any less obvious, Snape?" he asked. "You're making it very clear that you're planning to betray us."

"I'm not," said Severus calmly. "I cannot, and I will not. I just think it will be dangerous for you to know everything. It is very difficult to keep a level head knowing that your friends are being targeted."

"Perhaps that right there is the reason why everyone hates you," Potter said. "Maybe if you started to actually care about others then you wouldn't be such a lonely, miserable old bastard."

Even Weasley seemed surprised by Potter's maliciousness.

"Damn it, boy," said Severus. "Listen to me. I was your teacher for Christ's sake."

There was a moment when their eyes met, and everything, everything they might have been to each other hung between them. Then Potters upper lip curled contemptuously, and he banged his chair down.

"And a piss poor one, at that," he said. "You'll do as you're told."

Severus closed his eyes against the headache that informed him he had overstepped his bounds towards his Master. There was nothing more he could say right now to convince them, but at least it looked like he had permission to return to the Dark Lord.

From his chair by the kitchen table, Harry watched the slave go back to eating his breakfast.

He felt oddly conflicted. There was a strong voice inside him, telling him that Snape was profoundly _bad_. He had felt betrayed by Snape ever since he killed Dumbledore and Harry had learnt of the prophecy, but not in this exact manner… And though he couldn't establish precisely the chain of logic that would make him feel this way, the whispers in his mind were too strong to be ignored.

 _Traitor_. _Defector_.

He fingered the locket that hung around his neck. The voices told him that putting Snape in his rightful place felt good. That it was the only way to deal with the likes of him.

 _Torture._

That really, Snape deserved to be slain for his transgressions.

But he also knew that it was unlike him to think this way. And deep down, deeper than he cared to dig at the moment, something told him that the whispers might be fundamentally wrong…

The duality in his heart frustrated him to no end.

"What about the Horcrux then?" asked Ron with a glance at Harry. "The locket?"

"Well, we'll need a good plan to get the sword from Hogwarts," said Hermione. "But at the moment we're left with fiendfyre." She watched Snape. "Professor, do you suppose you could…?"

Snape looked at her uncertainly. "I don't think that's a very good idea, no, it-"

"And why is that?" interrupted Harry. Snape turned to face him.

"That spell," he said. "It is very hard to control, I've only ever known two people who could do that safely…"

"Well I know Dumbledore could do it," said Harry. "But you conveniently went and killed him off. And I suppose the other one is your precious lord, so there's no use asking _him_. Guess you'll have to learn pretty quickly then, Snape."

The teacher huffed. "This isn't about _learning_ ," he said. "I already know the spell. The problem is control. It requires a great deal of magical strength to divert the fire away from the caster, not even mentioning to divert it away from any spectators."

"There you have it then," said Harry coldly. "Learn control. You went on for hours to me about that in occlumency lessons. It's about time you took a leaf out of your own book."

"You ask the impossible." Snape sighed, rubbing his forehead as though he was in pain. "I'm not Merlin…"

"You're just saying that!" Harry was enraged. "You want to thwart us, of course you do!" He turned to his friends. "If I ordered him to do it, I'm sure it would work!"

Hermione's eyes suddenly went wide, making Harry turn back around. Snape was scrunching his eyes shut and covering his nose with a napkin… With a pang of –something-, Harry realised that the teacher was bleeding from his nose again, and for a moment, there was a deafening silence.

Ron, who had been watching the exchange without comment, cleared his voice uneasily. "We should find a way to get into Hogwarts regardless," he said, trying not to stare at Snape. "We'll need the sword. If Snape's not there, we ought to have a means of killing the Horcruxes anyway."

"You're right, Ron." Hermione smiled weakly at him. "We should think about obtaining the other Horcruxes in the meantime." She watched Snape awkwardly. "What about Nagini, Professor?"

"I have designed an antidote against her poison," muttered Snape. He was still wiping at his nose. "But we'll need to stock up on it. It should be taken regularly to have the greatest effect, at least once a week. And it needs to be freshly brewed."

"Oh, wonderful, I'll help." Hermione tried to beam, but it came off looking more like a grimace.

Suddenly, a flash of bright light blinded them, making all four jump in their seats.

Harry had no time to draw his wand. As he tripped on a table leg and fell to the floor, the only thing he could think about was that he had not ordered Snape to ward the house against portkeys.

He watched toothlessly as five intruding figures materialised inside the room. Then, a bent, sweater-size knitting needle clattered to the floor and Nymphadora Tonks surged towards Snape.

" _Stupefy_!"

Unarmed and taken by surprise, the spell hit the slave squarely in the chest and he fell to the ground, unconscious, landing hard on his back.

"Harry!"

The voice belonged to Minerva McGonagall. By her side was Remus Lupin, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Harry lurched to his feet, trying and failing to appear on top of things.

"Professor!" he croaked, "what are you doing here?"

"Thank the stars," huffed McGonagall, as Mrs. Weasley clutched her chest in relief. "You're alright! Was he alone?"

Harry had no idea what the stern Professor meant, still rattled from the fright of the Order's arrival.

"What…?"

" _Severus_ ," said McGonagall urgently. "Did he capture you on his own? Fletcher informed us he was here, and with the three of you gone, we feared the worst. Are there any other Death Eaters?"

Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Weasley and Remus left the kitchen, arms at the ready. Belatedly realising that the Order had come to apprehend Snape, Harry managed to stutter, "No, we- … No, Professor, there's only us."

McGonagall cast her eyes at the door where the two men had just disappeared, then exchanged a look with Mrs. Weasley.

"He didn't capture us." Hermione stepped forward abruptly. "We…" she trailed off, looking uncertainly at Harry and Ron.

Harry fidgeted. He had no idea how to explain the situation. That Snape had not captured them, but the very reverse, and the revelation –which suddenly seemed so abnormal now, so depraved- that Snape was his slave.

He was graced with a few moments' respite as Snape stirred. Tonks, who had not left his side, aimed her wand at him again.

" _Incarcerous_. _Accio_."

A rope brought Snape's wrists together in front of him, binding them tightly. Hermione made a weak whine as Tonks deftly caught the black wand that soared from the teacher's pocket.

"Don't move, Snape," she said. "I dare you…"

Still sprawled on the floor, Snape edged away on his elbows, backing up against the wall. Tonks followed his movements threateningly.

Harry nearly felt sorry for the man, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. This was _Snape_. Treacherous, murdering, deceitful Snape. He didn't deserve pity or mercy for all the havoc he had wrecked.

"Tonks, no!" Hermione obviously felt differently, and she quickly moved to Snape's side, putting a hand on the Auror's wrist. "Don't hex him!" she cried. "He's innocent, he- he's with us!"

All eyes snapped towards her, disbelieving.

" _With_ you?" asked Mrs. Weasley shrilly. She rounded on her son, looking furious. "What is this, Ronald? Do explain yourself!"

Ron remained wide-eyed and motionless, but at last, Harry's courage caught up with him. He moved to Hermione's side next to the prone teacher.

"We're on a mission from Dumbledore," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "It has to do with you-know-who, but we can't speak of it. Snape is…" he hesitated. "He's bound to me. By Dumbledore. He's… on our side."

It was only a half-truth, in Harry's opinion, but he needed to convince them to leave well alone. He looked down on Snape, who watched them impassively, and couldn't help but add, "at least, we think he is…"

Mrs. Weasley was livid. "Dumbledore!" she cried. "That… that man!"

McGonagall held out a hand to grasp her arm.

"Molly," she said. "I think I know parts of what this is about…" She turned to Harry. "Are you absolutely certain that you are safe around him?" She indicated Snape with her wand.

"Well…" Harry wavered as Lupin and Mr. Weasley re-entered the room, Mr. Weasley nodding to McGonagall.

"The house is clear," he said and then he looked around uncertainly as he became aware that he had interrupted something. His ginger brows knit together. "What is going on here…?"

"They are claiming to be on some sort of mission," Mrs. Weasley barked at her husband. Her nostrils were flaring and she had planted her fists firmly on her hips. "And that this," she continued breathlessly, waving at Snape, "…this _murderer_ is on our side!"

"We'll soon see 'bout that," said McGonagall. She moved Tonks aside from Snape's sprawled form, pointing her wand at the man's chest.

" _Accio_ veritaserum."

Snape flinched. A glass flagon flew from his pocket, landing securely in McGonagall's outstretched hand. Remus gave a grim chuckle.

"Talk about digging one's own grave," he muttered, ruffling his mousy brown hair. Then in a stronger voice he said, "but isn't he immune? There are rumours going about…"

"Immune against regular doses, ay," answered McGonagall. "Three to four drops or thereabout, depending on body size." She approached Snape, uncorking the vial and holding it to his lips.

"Drink it," she told him, rolling the 'r's. "All of it."

Snape's eyes widened, searching out Harry's with a meaningful gaze, and he pressed up against the wall.

Hesitantly, Harry nodded once. "Just do it," he told Snape. "I'll let them know what questions not to ask."

Snape watched Harry for a moment, and with a resigned sigh, he obeyed.

McGonagall exchanged a glance with Tonks, who had her eyebrows creeping up to her bubblegum-pink hairline. Harry was unsure if their bewilderment was on Snape's expense, or on his own.

Then they waited in silence for Snape's eyes to gain the glassy, unfocused air of intoxication. It didn't take long.

McGonagall seated herself on a chair by the kitchen table. Several of the others followed suit, Harry and Hermione remaining motionless at Snape's side.

"Does Riddle still have his hooks in ye?" McGonagall asked Snape.

"Not for sixteen years," was the reply.

If Harry had thought Snape's face impassive before, it was nothing against the blank expression he took on under the influence of the serum. His forehead had smoothed out and his jaw was partially slack. It was painfully obvious that the man was not in control. For the second time that day, Harry felt something akin to guilt trying to settle in his stomach.

McGonagall cast her eyes swiftly at her fellow Order members.

"Are ye… magically bonded to Harry Potter?" she asked, making Harry think that she had at least suspected _something_ about Dumbledore's spell. He took a deep breath, scrutinising Snape's face for signs of deceit.

There was none. "Yes," he answered.

McGonagall's eyes met Harry's. There was a deep frown between her eyes, and Harry found himself shifting uncomfortably.

"Severus," the stern Professor said, gaze still resting on Harry. "Where do yer loyalties lie?"

Seven pairs of eyes came to rest on Snape, who bore their penetrating gazes without affect.

"With Harry Potter," he stated simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Harry watched the adults' expressions of comprehension and alarm with a feeling of detachment.

He should have been comforted by those words. He even ought to have felt some form of happiness or at least hope, that the Snape he'd come to like was still in there somewhere.

In the back of his mind, Harry knew that he should have been relieved. But something unidentifiable kept him from feeling all of those things. It was almost like the time when Voldemort had been meddling with his thoughts, trying and succeeding to implant the false vision of Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. Yet this time, it was different all the same.

He knew that his mind wasn't invaded. Yet, all he could feel was rage and resentment. He was unable to let go of the bitterness he felt against Snape for making himself an accomplice in the murders of his parents. He was even angry with McGonagall for taking Snape's side so easily, and with his friends for standing passively aside.

"How can this be?" asked Mrs. Weasley. She was looking at Harry as though seeing him for the first time.

"Albus," Remus said.

"Ay," said McGonagall.

"What are we going to do about it?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Nothing," said Harry angrily. "You'll do nothing. There's nothing you can do. I'm the one the prophecy is about, and I'm the one who Dumbledore trusted this mission with. You _must_ let us do our job as he intended."

The miserable look on Mr. Weasley's face was heart breaking, but Harry needed to remain strong.

"But we can help you," he said. "Surely, you can't expect to manage on your own. You're _children_ …"

"We're both of age," Hermione said, indicating herself and Ron.

"And I will be in a matter of hours," said Harry.

"Well, until then, you're coming home with us," said Mrs. Weasley. Her voice was bristling. "Tomorrow is your _birthday_!"

To Harry's frustration, she seemed to have got in the last word. They all stood from their seats, and Tonks picked up the knitting needle to work on the _portus_ charm.

"What about… him?" asked Ron. He was looking at Snape, who still lay on the floor in the corner, gazing vacantly off to the middle distance.

"I'd rather not he came along," admitted Mrs. Weasley. "Traitor or no, he was still the one who killed Albus…"

McGonagall leaned down to check the pulse on the former professor. "He's still oot the game," she said. "But he'll be alright. Leave him be, I say. If I know anything about him, he'll be grateful for some time alone. And I've known him for twenty-six years straight."

Harry exchanged a brief glance with Hermione. He didn't want Snape to come along either, but he couldn't quite shake the unasked for thought that McGonagall didn't really know the man that well, after all.

Then the portkey was ready, whisking them away to the festively decorated Burrow, leaving behind one very alone, and very honest slave.

 **A/N**

 **I experimented with changing the perspective characters in this chapter, and I would very much like your opinion on that. Was it confusing? Annoying? Did it give you anything more than a single person point of view would have?**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	15. The Calm Before the Storm

Ron's bedroom was cramped, cluttered and crooked, squeezed into a corner of the Burrow on the fifth floor.

The thumping sounds from the ghoul were rather loud up here, being as they were so close to the attic, but Harry didn't mind. Quite on the contrary, he found the sounds and smells here soothing and familiar, because Ron's room had always been the most wonderful bedroom that he could imagine. How happy he would have been as a child, to have a room like this. A home.

"Ah!" Ron threw himself down on the bed, putting his arms behind his head and sighing contentedly. "There's no place quite like my own bed."

"Yeah." Harry smiled as he put his wand and Voldemort's locket on the bedside table. He had already pulled the guest mattress from under Ron's bed, the one that was always waiting for him, made and ready. "I know what you mean," he said. "Grimmauld is officially my house, but it doesn't feel like this."

Ron snorted. "That place gives me the creeps." He chuckled drily. "Wonder what Snape and Kreacher are up to, all on their own…"

"I've no idea," said Harry. But for some reason, the thought of Snape suddenly bothered him…

Previously that evening, after he'd explained to the Order that Dumbledore's plan had been for Snape to replace him in the duel against Voldemort, and before McGonagall, Tonks and Remus had said goodbye with pensive glances in his direction, Tonks had pulled him into a corner, pushing something long and smooth into his hand.

"Here, Harry," she'd said, "I'm afraid I forgot to return this…"

He'd looked down at the piece of dark wood, recognising it instantly with the realisation that he too, had forgotten about Snape's wand.

"You'll give it to him, won't you?" Tonks' hair was darker now, bright purple giving way to a dull brown. "I suppose it's unlikely that I'll see him again…"

Harry hadn't given it much more thought at the time, but now, in the comfort of his bed, the bleak anger he'd been clinging to in the last few days made his stomach hurt, and the sensation was supremely odd. He felt both worse and better at the same time, and it was almost as though a haze was lifting from his mind.

"He's not been acting as I expected though." Ron was leaning over to put the light out, watching him over the edge of his bed. "Snape, that is. I mean, he hits rock bottom as a teacher, and he's a greasy bat all 'round, but…"

Ron suddenly sat up in the bed, eyes wide. "Blimey, Harry! Did we forget to untie his hands?"

The knot in Harry's stomach tightened.

"I don't know…"

"Oh." Ron rubbed a hand over his face. "Well I guess there's nothing to do about that now..."

He looked down on Harry for a moment. "Don't worry, mate," he said softly. "Old Snape won't let a few ropes stop him, right?"

Harry sighed and turned his back on Ron's bed, pretending to settle for the night, but knowing that he was unlikely to sleep. His trousers lay beside him in a pile on the floor, the light from the moon catching on the black wand that was sticking out of one of the pockets. He buried his head in the pillow, feeling like a freak.

Later, well past midnight, and after his wristwatch had beeped a signal for his birthday, Harry was still not feeling any better. With a sigh, he succumbed to that awful feeling in his gut and got up from his mattress. Ron had long since gone to sleep.

He dressed quietly and picked up his own wand and Snape's, but left the locket behind on the table. He had no desire to bring it along where he was going tonight.

Silently, he tiptoed down the stairs and out into the night, spending a few minutes to greet Hedwig who swooped down on him from her perch on top of the wedding tent. With a parting pet to her silky feathers, he gripped his wand tightly and twisted his body in the now familiar movement of apparation.

He regained his balance on the front step of number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The moon had disappeared behind a cloud. The only things fighting off the darkness were the dim lights from the neighbouring houses, and a rusty lamppost that was swaying slightly in the wind, its bulb blinking on and off.

Number 12 looked deserted and gloomy. Harry had never visited the old house alone before, and nearly second-guessed himself when he realised that he had no idea if Snape's wards would let him through.

But they did – slipping over him and enveloping him like an embrace. It was almost as though they welcomed him, allowing him entrance as if they were of his own making.

The house though, was eerie-dark, and utterly, utterly silent.

He gave the troll-leg umbrella stand a wide berth, sneaking into the kitchen to find Snape's spot in the corner empty. Kreacher was nowhere in sight. The only sign of anyone having been there was a small length of rope next to the bread knife on the counter.

Casting _lumos_ , he went up to the first floor, pausing to find both the library and the guest bedrooms equally deserted. Wincing with each footfall on the stair, he made his way to the top.

For a moment, the old suspicion against Snape stirred in him when he neared the landing, urged on by the darkness and his own frazzled nerves, but the feeling was quickly washed away. Because there, behind a door just opposite Sirius' room, Snape's tall form was waiting in the shadows.

Harry took a small step back, eying the cricket bat the man was holding in both hands, abruptly reminded of an episode once, when Snape had nearly caught him out of bed with the invisibility cloak, and Crouch Jr. polyjuiced as Mad-Eye Moody had come to his rescue. Snape had that same look about him now. Apprehensive, almost on the verge of anxious.

Would he be that anxious because of Harry?

"I was startled," said Snape, lowering the cricket bat immediately. He squinted against the light from Harry's wand.

"Oh…" Harry cleared his voice uncertainly. "Didn't the wards alert you that I was coming?"

Snape put the bat up against the wall as though it made him uncomfortable to hold a weapon in Harry's presence. "No," he said. "I heard someone entering, but I didn't know it was you. The wards… they're keyed to you."

"Right." Harry shifted his feet. "I sort of realised…"

They watched each other awkwardly.

Something was different this night. If Snape didn't exactly look different, something _felt_ different about him now.

Perhaps it was because of the white undershirt he was wearing over his trousers, or because of the way his hair was in disorder. Or perhaps it was because they were alone for the first time since Dumbledore's death, or simply because it was in the middle of the night.

Whatever it was, Harry all of a sudden found himself shy facing Snape like this, and for the first time since that fateful day atop the Astronomy tower, he longed back to the time when he and Snape had been on friendly terms.

The uneasy feeling that had been but a tiny nuisance to him in the day intensified and for once, he didn't know what he wanted to say. All he knew was that he had to be the one to make the first move.

"We went to the Burrow…"

Snape nodded. "I know."

"You know?"

"I wasn't deaf…" Snape was still blinking against the light. "Merely drugged."

"Oh…" Harry lowered his wand away from his teacher's eyes. "Right… So you know what McGonagall asked about?"

"Mm hm." Snape rubbed a hand over his face.

A question was burning him. He'd wondered about the same thing the day before, but back then it had seemed less important somehow, like something he could push away to think about later.

"You said yesterday that you're loyal to me…" He had no idea why it was so important to him now, but even forming the right words was difficult. He couldn't quite look Snape in the eye and kept his gaze at the point on the man's neck where his pulse was beating just below the skin. "And not to… you-know-who…"

Snape's body stilled. "I did."

"Yeah, it…" Harry scratched the back of his hair. "It's just because of the spell, right?"

"No," said Snape quietly. "It's why I took the spell."

Harry looked down. "I see…"

"You do?" Snape sounded wary, almost distrustful.

"I brought you this," said Harry. He held out Snape's wand.

"Oh, good…" Snape was quick to take it back. "Thank you."

"Yeah, we… err, we didn't mean to take it from you… permanently..."

Harry felt the shame creep up his cheeks from seeing Snape's hesitation to believe him. Thinking the conversation was over, he turned to go back down, feeling that at least he'd done Snape right by returning it.

"Where are you going?" The stair creaked as Snape followed him.

Harry half-turned by the library, surprised. "I'm going out," he said. "Why?"

"Where?" repeated Snape, studying him carefully. "Back to the Burrow?"

The former Professor had stopped next to him on the landing, quite close, and something made him answer, "I'm turning seventeen today… I…" He looked up uncertainly.

"Happy returns," said Snape gently. "Where are you going?"

Harry nodded shyly. "Thanks, I… I want to visit their graves."

Snape's confidence seemed to rise with every word spoken between them. "Then I'm coming with you," he said.

Despite it all, Harry's heart skipped a beat. "You are?"

"I'm not about to let you on your own." Snape took his coat from one of the hangers, muttering, "It isn't safe. Didn't you hear Granger before?"

Harry realised then, that he needed Snape to apparate him to the right location. Although he knew that his parent's hometown was somewhere in Somerset, further details eluded him. He just hadn't thought that far yet, and so much for managing on his own.

But now, the warm comfort of relief engulfed him, and it wasn't only due to the convenience of having a knowledgeable companion… Was _this_ how he really felt? And why was he feeling this way now, when only yesterday he hadn't?

Confused, Harry followed Snape to the ground floor.

"Now what?"

Snape was heading into the kitchen, fastening his infamous black buttons. "I need a pick-me-up," he said. "I don't get much sleep these days."

Harry took a seat by the table as Snape rummaged through one of the cabinets. When taking a closer look, he could see dark rings under the teacher's eyes, and a tired, drawn look to him that he couldn't remember having noticed before.

"I used to be able to stay up all night if I wanted to at your age," said Snape with a sidelong glance at him. "But I'll admit that it's been a few years." He filled a cup with tap water, heating it with a wave of his wand, and the pleasant aroma of coffee spread through the room. Harry inhaled deeply, letting the scent bring back memories of simpler times.

"Nowadays I'm beat up just from sleeping in a chair," Snape muttered. "Clearly I'm not getting any younger." He poured something from a small glass vial into his cup. "You want some tea?"

Although Snape's voice was free of accusation, Harry was already conscious of the fact that he was the main reason for his professor's fatigue. "I'm fine," he said, with a small shake of his head.

He wanted to ask another big question – _the_ question- but he didn't quite know how to address the man anymore. He knew he could just use his given name, Severus, but it felt almost daring to do that now, after all that had passed between them…

But if he was going to be completely honest with himself, what really held him back was that he was afraid of another confrontation. Not because of Snape's reaction, but of the poisonous, burning anger that had festered in his own heart… That overwhelming, almost foreign hate which had been all-consuming seemed terrifying to him now, and for some reason he no longer had the same desire to be furious with Snape.

"I've given it some thought," he said instead, "and I have a hunch that you-know-who has hidden a Horcrux there."

"Hm." Snape sighed as he sat down in the seat across from Harry's. He closed his eyes and took a sip from the steaming cup. "Is that why you want to go?"

Harry traced the grain on the oak table with a finger. It was worn and coarse, stained by tea spills from many a heated order meeting. "No," he said, "no, not really..."

Snape kept his eyes trained on him, but he found he didn't really mind being watched like that. "What do you think then?" he asked.

"I'm not so sure," Snape said. "He lost his body there. I don't suppose it's a happy memory for him."

Despite himself, Harry snorted a laugh. "Yeah," he said. "Hermione said so too. Maybe you're both right."

"She has good head, your friend." Snape leaned back. "Be sure to hold onto that one."

"Why, aren't you the hypocrite?" asked Harry, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You've been calling her insufferable for years."

"Perhaps my opinion changed," admitted Snape. "But despite what other people might say about me, I do know how to recognise a staunch ally."

"Yeah, I know…" Harry rubbed a hand over his scar. "My friends, they're great. I'd have no chance without them. They're all I have…"

"Them," said Snape, "and your lousy excuse for a teacher…"

Harry resumed his scrutiny of the table top, unsure of how to respond. The matter of the prophecy weighed down on him heavily. He heard Snape sigh.

"You know I had no choice, don't you?" Snape was watching him with wrinkles of worry on his brow. "That I never _wanted_ to kill him?"

Granted, Hermione had told him as much. That Dumbledore had asked –begged, in fact- of Snape to do what he did. But that didn't nullify the depravity of it all. Eyes still cast down, Harry asked quietly, "do you regret it?"

Snape's chair creaked as he shifted slightly.

"I…" There was a long pause, and Harry looked up to see an unguarded expression of sorrow in his eyes.

"I'm not proud of myself," he said in the end. "I wish things could have gone differently. But I don't know what else I could have done…"

"Right…" Talking about Dumbledore still hurt, and Harry almost regretted having asked when what he really wanted to know was if Snape cared at all about his part in James' and Lily's deaths. He made to get up from his chair, but stopped when he saw Snape's expression. His confidence seemed to have shattered, and there was an unmistakeable air of longing about him as he watched Harry slide slowly back into his seat.

"I am sorry," Snape said. "I think about it every day."

Harry remained silent, but he kept his eyes on Snape's because finally, at last, he could see the truth in them.

"Do you think you can forgive me?"

And there it was. The words he had been waiting for, and they held so much more meaning to him than just the allusion to Dumbledore's death. He wanted to blurt it all then, to scream and rage at Snape, to punish him for being involved in his parents' murder, for making Harry the child of the prophecy, for concealing it all from him, lying about it, and for tricking Harry into relying on him so much. But something still held him back.

Maybe Hermione and Ron had been right all those months ago, in telling him that he expected too little from the adults in his life, but just then, Harry didn't want to break their tentative truce. It felt too good, after weeks of suspicion and hatred, to finally have his own Snape return to him.

"I might," he said, not yet knowing if he really could, and thinking of both Dumbledore and the prophecy even though Snape didn't yet know that he knew… "I'll try."

Snape exhaled along breath, visibly relieved. "Thank you."

"Yeah." Harry looked down on the table again. He hadn't considered Snape's feelings for some time, it was almost like he had temporarily forgotten that the man could feel at all. With a pang, he thought about Snape's own sacrifice, the way he had been bleeding from the nose and of how they had left him alone still influenced by the veritaserum and bereft of his wand. How dangerous that really was, and how humiliating it must have been for such a proud man…

"You know, I really didn't mean to leave you behind like that," he said. "Tied up and all…" He peeked up through his hair.

"I know," said Snape softly. "It's alright. Don't worry about me."

The liberation Harry felt at those words was completely unexpected. He hadn't had a need to explain himself to Snape earlier in the day, least of all to apologise, but the way his fumbling excuse was brushed off, as though his actions were merely those of a wayward child, felt like coming home…

Snape stood. "So are we going or not?" he asked. "I know I at least would prefer a few hours of sleep before dawn."

"Yeah, sure." Hiding a small smile, Harry stood as well.

And so they left the house. Harry took hold of Snape's arm as he had done before, letting him apparate them to the centre of a village where wooden two-floor cottages in various shapes and colours lined the streets. Above their heads, the night's first stars were glimmering on the dark sky.

Godric's Hollow was small and old-fashioned, but in a pleasant way. It seemed like a peaceful place for a family to settle down.

There was a small pub with candlelight and the muffled sound of voices coming from the windows, a post office -closed at this late hour- and in the distance, a church at the end of a narrow gravel lane. Harry could see the low stone fence in front of a graveyard behind it and he felt a thrill of excitement, strong enough to border on fear. Surely, his parents would be resting there.

"Walk a little closer."

Nervously, Harry turned to Snape who was indicating a polished stone pillar, bathed in the golden glow from a lamppost right in the village square. There was some kind of inscription on it, but he was unable to make out the words. A memorial of some sort.

Perhaps Snape knew how he was feeling because he put a hand on his shoulder then, lightly urging him closer and although Snape's hand was slightly cold, the gesture thawed his heart.

The sound of their shoes on the cobbled street was loud in the deserted square. As they approached, the obelisk changed, morphing into life-size figures. A statue of a small family. Harry inhaled sharply.

"Is that…?" He had never known there was a statue.

"Yes." Snape's voice was subdued coming from behind his back. "Your parents… and you."

James was holding an arm around Lily. They were both cradling an infant, looking down on it with obvious affection. The baby – _him_ \- looked content, its forehead still unscarred.

"In winter," said Snape quietly, "the snow gathers on top of their heads. It almost makes it look like they are wearing white fur hats."

"Oh." Harry stepped closer still, tentatively placing a hand on his mother's knee. "I wish I could have seen it…"

"You still have time." Snape sounded suddenly emotional, the waver in his voice mirroring Harry's own. There was something odd in his eyes as Harry turned to look at him. Something that almost resembled hope.

"Can we go to the graveyard?" he asked. "They're there, aren't they?"

"Yes," said Snape, "they're there."

The sound of voices died down as they crossed the street and left the pub behind. They followed a beaten track leading from an old kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard, Snape leading the way with sure treads through the rows upon rows of tombstones.

The light dimmed as they made it deeper in, and the only sound now was from their breathing and the rustling of Snape's cloak as it caught on the thorns of the rose bushes that flanked the engraved granite memorials.

In passing, Harry was startled to notice the name of Dumbledore on a dark, lichen-spotted stone, and an illusion seemed to shatter in him with the knowledge that the Headmaster's family were buried, side-by-side, in the same place where _his_ family lay.

He couldn't help but think that Dumbledore should have told him that they shared this connection. They could have visited the place together, could have made a bond over it, and how much wouldn't that have meant to him?

But he tore his eyes away from it, and the sting lessened as he rested his gaze on Snape's familiar back just ahead of him.

The Professor slowed to a stop then.

"There." He pointed at a tombstone two rows away, and turned back to Harry with an almost uncertain expression. "I'll wait…"

Harry passed him, his heart hammering in his chest. The inscription was easy to read as the stone was made of white marble, and seemed to shine in the dark.

 _James Potter, Lily Potter…_

 _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

He pressed his lips hard together, saddened and angered by the empty words that seemed to mock him. The grief pressed on him from all sides, squeezing his lungs and his eyes so that they almost started to water, and all he could think about was that his parents had not defeated death, but were cold and still beneath the stone and dirt, uncaring and unknowing that he was even near…

He had no idea how long he stood like that, but when Snape's gruff voice woke him from his trance, he was cold to the bone.

"Come away now," Snape said, still keeping his distance. "I have a feeling we shouldn't linger…"

"No, wait." Harry turned to him, not bothering to wipe his cheeks. His body felt stiff and ungainly, and his voice was rougher than usual. "I want to put some flowers on there." He nodded his head at the grave. "You think you could conjure some? I'm horrible with detailed charms…"

Snape approached slowly, and the lost look on his face reminded Harry of the part that he had played to get his parents where they were. But instead of making his anger flare, it made him sadder still. But then Snape pulled out his wand and whispered a spell that made small, white lilies burst from its tip. He handed them carefully over to Harry.

"They're perfect." He sniffed. "Thanks…"

He knelt to put them on the ground, taking a moment to read his parent's names once more before he stood and turned away. Snape was watching him again, with that look that wasn't bothering at all.

"Do you want to see the house as well?" he asked.

Harry was silent for a moment. He hadn't even dared to hope that it still remained.

"Yeah…" He finally removed his glasses to wipe at his face. "Yeah, I do."

The pub was emptying and a few late-night stragglers crossed their path as they took a dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. They passed more cottages and tiny shops, all of them sleeping and silent, and Snape led him to a row of houses, where a dark mass at the very end was cloaked in the magic of a notice-me-not charm. When they came closer, the remains of a cottage materialised in front of them.

Harry's breath made small puffs of mist as he quickened his gait. Once again, Snape lagged behind as they approached, allowing him to lead the way.

The roof and half of the first floor was blown off, dark ivy climbing the walls and peeking over the jagged edge. The garden had grown wild, knee-high grass blanketing the rubble that lay scattered all around. Harry touched the gate, fascinated by the golden letters of support and remembrance on the wooden sign that stood next to it. Eagerly, he turned to his companion.

"Is it safe to go inside?"

But Snape was not watching him. He seemed to have shrunk in on himself, and his gaze was firmly fixed onto the part of the first floor where the blast seemed to have made the worst impact.

"Professor?"

Snape slowly tore his eyes from the cottage, staring vacantly at Harry for a moment before responding. "I don't know," he croaked, looking around the street once before looking back at the house. "Maybe…"

Harry turned back to the cottage. Carefully, so as not to make a noise, he opened the gate and picked his way along what must once have been a shingled path, but was now taken over by weeds and broken roof tiles. Even when compared to Grimmauld Place, the house appeared inhospitable, but it mattered little to him. This had once been his home – his true home.

The door was slightly ajar, maybe even left that way by Hagrid when he had come to carry him off to stay with the Dursleys. Harry stopped on the front step glancing back onto the street. Snape was still standing at the gate, frozen.

"Come along, then…"

He did not take the time to make sure that Snape did as he had said. It did not even occur to him that he had just given the man an order as he stealthily stole through the small gap and pulled out his wand.

" _Lumos_."

The spell was powerful, bathing the entrance hall in light. It was dusty and moist, cloaks and boots still in their places on and below the coatrack. An open doorway led to a combined living room and small kitchen. There, on the floor, a few toys were scattered about, and at the wooden kitchen table stood a baby's high chair.

A narrow stairway led to the first floor above. Harry neared it carefully, reverently. He could see the shimmer of stars peeking through the open roof.

"Careful..."

Snape sounded slightly out of breath, as though he had been running to catch up.

Harry nodded silently and turned to the fireplace. There were two sofas next to it, and a television receiver from the 1970's. A few magazines lay on the coffee table, and an abandoned wand. James'…

Harry's breath caught in his throat. How cruel must Voldemort have been to attack a family like that? Surprised, unarmed, and all for the sake of killing their infant child?

"It makes me so angry sometimes…"

He turned away from it, meeting Snape's dark gaze. The man looked as though he was expecting the cottage to fall violently down on top of them, but Harry didn't pay much notice to that.

"Why did they have to die while I'm still alive?" he asked. "It isn't _fair_."

"They were your parents," said Snape quietly. "They wouldn't have wanted it any other way."

"No?" Harry flashed him a glare. "What do _you_ know about it? You don't have any children."

He had almost expected Snape to tell him that life was never fair, or some such tripe, but was surprised to see the look of hurt on his old professor's face.

"No," said Snape, "I suppose I don't."

Harry watched him closer, his anger deflating. Snape had always had the air about him of someone who was slighted by life, but Harry had never given any thought to the reasons for that. He'd certainly never imagined the man having regrets or losing someone dear, but now it sort of made sense.

"Did you ever lose someone you loved?"

"Of course I did," said Snape absently, his eyes darting warily around the room before coming to rest on him. "We all do at some point…"

This was new, but not really surprising. Not anymore. Harry brushed some dust off the telly. "Who'd you lose then?" he asked innocently.

"My mother…" Snape broke eye contact to walk over to one of the bookshelves by the fireplace. "…the Headmaster… _your_ mother…" It almost sounded like he had wanted to name another, but he broke himself off.

"My mum?" said Harry, recalling the memory he'd once discovered in Snape's pensive. "No one ever talks about her. All I know is that I have her eyes... But you _knew_ her, didn't you?"

He'd asked the same question before, but last time, in Snape's rooms at Hogwarts, their discussion had been interrupted by an owl from Bellatrix Lestrange.

Snape pulled a book from the shelf, brushing dust off its spine. "Yes, I knew your mother," he said softly. "We used to be friends once. But that was a long time ago."

Harry stepped closer, captivated. "What happened?"

"She…" Still, Snape would not look at him, and it seemed to cost him to respond. "We chose separate paths..."

Harry nodded. "I see."

Of course they had. His mother had been one of the foremost defenders of the light, while Snape… Snape had made a Death Eater of himself…

Snape squinted down his crooked nose at the book in his hands. "Look here…" He turned a page and Harry approached to look over his shoulder. It was an old photo album with faded, dull-coloured pictures. "This used to be hers."

His excitement rekindling, Harry reached out to take it out of Snape's hands. The first few photos were of a comely two-story house. Two children in pretty summer dresses were lined up neatly in front of it.

Snape eyed the album hungrily. He pointed at the tallest girl.

"That's Petunia."

Her wavy hair was darker than her little sister's was. Where Lily had grass stains on her knees and a wide smile on her face, Petunia's dress was immaculate, and her expression sombre.

"And that's Mum, isn't' it?" asked Harry. "I recognise her from another album I have."

"Yes," said Snape. "That's Lily. I grew up in a neighbourhood not far from theirs. We used to meet at a playground close by."

Harry looked up, surprised. "You knew her before Hogwarts then?"

"We were nine, your mother and I," Snape said. "Petunia must have been… eleven, or twelve at that time. Your mother used to come and play with me. I was the only other magical person that she knew."

How peculiar. His mother that young… Snape at age nine… and friends. Harry turned another page in the alum, careful so as not to damage the paper. The next photo was older, a black-and-white wedding picture of an adult couple. The woman's resemblance to the two girls was striking, and he could easily imagine his mother looking like that, had she lived longer. The man was tall and slim, with a balding head and black horn-rimmed glasses.

"Your grandparents," said Snape. "They were good people. Mr. Evans was a schoolteacher, actually. Primary school. He used to come home with ink-stains all over his hands, complaining about the pranks his pupils always played on each other."

Harry snorted. "I bet you can relate."

"Mmm." Snape seemed lost in the memory. "But he was good at it. I think he genuinely liked children. He even let me drive their car once." He nodded at the woman. "Your grandmother stayed at home. She was very kind, always fed me biscuits, telling me I how wan I looked." He glanced at Harry. "She would have loved to have a grandson…"

"How did they die?"

Harry hadn't thought through the question before it was out of his mouth, and found himself regretting having asked almost immediately. Snape looked as though he had cut a knife straight through him.

"They were killed…"

There was no need to say who had done it. It was written there, plainly on his face.

"I wasn't there," Snape said quietly. "I didn't even know. I was only a menial at the time. I brewed potions, mainly."

Harry nodded silently. Another stone had fallen onto the scale weighing Snape's sins, but he didn't want to be angry just then, didn't have the heart for it anymore. He was enjoying the moment far too much, because despite everything, it made him feel so close to Snape to talk like this. He didn't think he'd felt as close to anyone before, not Sirius, not ever. Not even Ginny, although that was different.

He turned another page. The next few pictures were mostly of Lily. In Diagon Alley with her father, in front of the Christmas tree with her mother and sister, riding a pony in the countryside. There were a few photos of a cottage as well, some of them with Harry's grandparents, others featuring the girls playing on a rocky shore.

"What's this place?"

"Oh…" Snape leaned closer, sounding pleasantly surprised. "That's in Penwith. Your grandparents owned a log cabin there, close to Land's End."

"It looks nice."

"They took me there once," said Snape, "just before we started school. It is the loveliest place I know."

"Really?" Almost startled to hear such words from Snape, Harry turned to look at him. "You like it by the ocean?"

"Yes," said Snape. "I find it mesmerising. Have you ever seen it?"

Harry shook his head, suddenly wishing he had. "Not unless you count the black lake…"

"I don't." Snape grimaced slightly. "You should go there then. The cottage is still standing, but it hasn't been used for more than a decade."

Snape went silent for a moment, then he said gently, "Dumbledore used to say that there's nothing as good for one's peace of mind as a cottage near the ocean…"

"I bet he did." Harry smiled, glad that they could mention Dumbledore now, with much less bitterness between them. It almost felt like old times.

"I'm going to keep this," he said, stroking his hand over the album. "You don't think that's tomb raiding, do you?"

"Of course not," said Snape. "It's yours."

He made to close the binding, but stopped when a loose picture fell out from the last page. It looked like it had once been torn out only to be placed back in later, and was of a small boy with long hair and dark, sharp eyes.

"That's you… isn't it?" Harry adjusted his glasses, a spontaneous grin forming on his lips. "It is!"

Snape grunted. But something light and bright had taken hold of Harry's heart and he laughed.

"You were such a skinny little thing. But I bet they thought you were cute." He nudged Snape in the side, a warm fondness welling in him. "What happened to make you into such an old grouch?"

Even Snape smiled then, his mouth thinning to pull up at the corner ever so slightly, the crinkles in the skin next to his eyes deepening.

"And you, Potter, are an annoying little twit."

Harry chuckled. "I know," he said. "You keep telling me." He put the photo of Snape back into the album, securing it beneath the one of Lily and Petunia at the beach.

"You don't have to keep that there..." A small frown had crept onto Snape's brow.

Harry closed the album and shrunk it to fit his pocket. "I want to," he said. "You're part of her, in a way. She must have cared for you to hold onto your picture."

Snape did not respond to that, so Harry turned his eye on the stairway once more.

"I want to have a look upstairs."

Snape shifted his weight. "Are you so sure about that?"

"I don't know if I'll get a chance to return," he said. "You don't have to come, if you'd prefer not to…"

Snape seemed relieved. "Fine then," he said. "I'll wait here." He looked at Harry sharply. "But please refrain from doing anything rash and foolish."

Harry crept up the stair, carefully avoiding the most fragile-looking steps. "Don't worry," he said. "You know me. I'll be alright."

He could hear Snape huff as he made it to the top, but his amusement with the man was quickly forgotten when he saw the state of the place. The top floor was in shambles. And although the crib was still partly intact, the elements had transformed the nursery into a distorted ruin. Even the pictures on the walls were destroyed.

Harry sighed. There was nothing for him here.

On last impulse, he stole a peek out through a shattered window, hoping to see the shape of the countryside beyond the village. But it was too dark. Only the stars and a pale moon gave light to the scenery, and the world lay in shadow. Beneath him in the garden, the wind was rustling the weeds. There was no one in the street.

But then something _slithered_.

Across from the house, a thick sinuous body coiled its way towards them, the shape of it instantly recognisable.

Harry acted on pure instinct. He disapparated immediately.

His plan was ingenious in its simplicity: Take his advantage. Use the element of surprise. Stun her. Bind her in a cage. There was no time to think.

But then he appeared in the street, right next to her, and the golden, slitted eyes were instantly upon him.

" _Stupef_ -"

He could not even finish the spell. She was enormous. Astoundingly fast. Feral.

Before he could really process what was happening, Nagini's teeth sunk into his flesh.

Then, the world went black.

…

The crack of apparation from the first floor, followed swiftly by another from just outside the house were like the bells of doom. Severus ran as fast as he could.

A fool. That was what he was. He knew it –had always known- that that boy was not to be left on his own.

 _Severus. You. Fucking. Self-serving. Coward_.

In desperation, he burst through the door without regard for his own safety, equally as rash as the boy in his panic. His vision was still not accustomed to the darkness, and for a moment, he struggled to understand what had happened.

But then he saw. There, in the street, his worst nightmare was reality.

A small body. Limp. Bloodied.

"Fuck… No..."

His voice broke. His heart seemed to stop, and then it gave a threatening lurch. He wanted to weep, except there was no time.

He spared a single heartbeat to look for his enemy –and woe to their soul if they were caught- but no one else was around. Then he sprinted to the boy he would give his last breath to protect.

"Child… No…" He slapped a pale cheek, rubbed his knuckles roughly over narrow ribs. He could not lose him. He _would_ not. "Harry…"

But there was no response. Severus apparated them to edge of the Burrow's wards, hugging the boy to him much closer than was necessary.

Mud and mire water soaked through his trousers at once. He never liked the Burrow. He always felt unsettled going there. It held too much hospitality, too much comfort, reminding him too clearly that he was not a part of that companionship; that he would never be. But right now, it was the safest place in the world. It was where Arthur Weasley was.

Because the gash on Potter's lower arm told its own horrendous tale. No other snake was this big.

Severus bent his head down to Potter's, wishing it was him lying there. It _should_ have been him… The smell of blood was strong, almost overwhelming, but this was not the time to lose focus. Terrified, he leaned a little closer.

And there it was... The soft mist of a breath on his cheek, releasing the iron snare around his heart. The boy's chest moving up, then down. He felt the jugular; releasing the breath he himself had been holding in, when the flutter of a pulse met his trembling hand…

But Potter's face was entirely too pale. He was still unconscious, both sweaty and cold at the same time. There was a danger he would be going into circulatory shock.

"Steady now, boy..."

Fumbling with the pocket of his coat, Severus pulled out his last remaining bezoar. He put it in Potter's mouth, closing his jaw with a firm hand, allowing the magic to work its miracle.

Potter would live. But he had lost a lot of blood.

Severus took the boy's smaller hand in his own, pointing his mother's wand at the gash. It was deep, still bleeding profusely. Tendons and muscle exposed in sickening red.

" _Vulnera sanentur_ …"

He chanted for a long time, wishing he could wipe the arm clean of Nagini's stain. Also, selfishly, hoping that he could eradicate the blemish of his own mistake.

The elation he had felt when Potter came to him without resentment had been liberating beyond words. This night he resembled so much the boy he had known at Hogwarts during the brief time when they had been something more to each other than just a teacher and a student. He resembled the boy who almost made him forget that he was a slave now. The boy who saw him as a person, more so than any other. Just like his mother had once done.

Shaking with relief, he bent to press his lips to the crown of Potter's head. Through the stench of blood, he smelled something sweet and fresh, and his eyes stung. It had been such a long time since anyone had been glad to have him near…

Fatigue was slowly creeping up on him, but he took up his wand once more. First to cast a patronus, not bothering to give her a message to relay, not even caring who she chose to wake.

Then pointing it at Potter's chest, as he had done many times before.

" _Fianto duri. Protego_."

Resigned to wait, he brushed some hair out of the boy's eyes.

Why had he left Potter alone when he knew he shouldn't? What on earth had possessed him to put his own damned comfort before the boy's safety? When there was nothing in his life as important as that?

When they had talked about Lily, Potter's eyes had brightened, and he smiled. _For him_ … It dulled the ache he had felt from seeing Lily's picture again. It even soothed the pain of standing in her house. And that light had nearly been lost all because of his own selfish folly…

If he was given the time, Severus would take the boy to Land's End. The cottage was as good as his now, after all. Maybe they could stay there a day or two, throwing rocks into the ocean, feeling the breeze in their hair, gazing out towards the west…

And maybe Potter would allow him to look at that album again? Perhaps they could do so together? He had even said he owned another.

Would Potter like the idea of a boat with white sails…?

He looked down on the boy in his arms, seeing the shape of his face when his hair was brushed back, so much resembling Lily's. The eyes behind the glasses, their shape an exact replica of hers…

But then again… There was the damned prophecy…

At times, it had seemed like the boy had expected him to explain something more than Dumbledore's murder. It almost felt as though he was holding something back, that something between them, something big, was still unresolved…

But surely, the boy didn't know?

How could he?

Severus braced himself against the keen sting of guilt. He would have to employ all of his skills in prevarication, come what may. Because _he could never know_.

Least of all now, when things were going so well…

…

Hermione woke when the glittering light of a patronus ate away the shadows in the room she shared with Ginny.

She sat up immediately, thinking it was Harry's, but then realising that it was not the proud stag she knew so well, but a doe…

It was smaller. Not quite as vibrant. But as it watched her with expressive eyes, Hermione felt in her heart that the caster posed no danger to her. She followed it downstairs and out onto the grounds.

Professor Snape was there, she was not even surprised.

But there was something off about the way he was sitting… Hunched over, protectively, cradling something dear in his arms…

"Harry!"

She ran the last few yards, throwing herself down on the wet ground. He lay unmoving, pale and sweaty. His entire right side was covered in blood.

"No! Harry!"

Snape grasped her shoulder firmly, shaking her out of the shock. "Miss Granger," he said in his teacher's voice. "He will be alright. Don't worry."

Something about him reassured her. She exhaled shakily, gently picking up Harry's injured arm to let it rest limply in her hands.

"What happened?" Her voice dropped slightly from the shrill tones that tinted it when she was upset. "Where have you two been?"

"Nagini got to him," said Snape. "I left him alone for too long. I'm not quite sure how, but she bit him."

"Nagini!" She drew back, alarmed. "How could you let that happen?"

Snape bent his head slightly. "I know," he said. "It's all my fault... But he will be alright, I promise."

She looked down on Harry numbly, noting the steady rise and fall of his chest. He seemed to be merely sleeping, but his arm had angry red patches of newly healed skin.

Snape must have done that… However much at fault –and granted, even that was debatable knowing Harry- he had clearly done his best. She turned to him and her anger vanished altogether from seeing the expression on his face.

He was watching Harry, engrossed, something precious gleaming in his eye. She instinctively knew what it was.

Shifting her position, she reached over to take his hand in her own, resting the other on top of Harry's knee. Snape looked up at her, seeming dazed.

"What of the snake?" she asked gently. "Did you manage to kill her?"

Snape shook his head, strands of greasy black hair brushing his shoulders. "No," he said. "She was gone when I reached him. Maybe she went to fetch the Dark Lord. Maybe she was waiting in the shadows. I don't know…"

"Then she might have seen you?"

"Me?" Snape looked like he cared little that his cover might be blown. "I don't know. I suppose she might have…"

"God, pray not." Hermione shuddered. "Snakes rely more on smell than sight though. If she wasn't close by, she might not have known it was you…"

Snape ignored her. "I want you to take him inside," he said. "Arthur Wesley still has some antidote left, if my memory serves. Give that to him when he wakes, just to be sure." He pulled two small flagons from his coat with his free hand and handed them to her. "He'll need a blood replenisher as well. And give him this against bacterial infection."

She blinked. "You carry an entire apothecary in your pocket?"

He looked at her impatiently and she conjured her otter.

"I'm going to start the work on the antidote tomorrow," said Snape, as he watched her patronus dive towards the house with her message. "Next time we might not be so lucky. If that poison has time to reach the heart…"

She watched him close his eyes briefly. He looked worried and weary, but also calm. The look of one who has come out of a long-toiled hardship…

"Why were you two together...?" She glanced at Harry's sleeping face. "Have you sorted things out between you?"

She squeezed his hand and he pulled it from her grasp, as though he had forgotten until then that she was still holding it.

"You have, haven't you?" She smiled. "Oh, Professor, I'm so happy for you!"

He made a vague sound at the back of his throat, and could not quite conceal his relief.

"Hermione! Harry!"

They turned their heads sharply at the sound. Mr. Weasley was leaping down from the porch with surprising agility, a yellow and brown bathrobe flowing in his wake.

"Oh, my! How is…" He slowed down, looking at them in concern and confusion. "Professor Snape…?"

"I'll explain later," Hermione said. "But Harry's fine, I assure you. Help me get him inside."

Mr. Weasley quickly composed himself. Steadily, he bent down next to them and cast a spell, muttering. "There you go, sonny." He picked Harry up in his arms tenderly. "We'll get you sorted in no time at all."

Snape shifted out of their way, watching the scene with a guarded expression. Mr. Weasley turned to him awkwardly.

"Won't you come inside as well?"

"No, I…" Snape climbed stiffly to his feet and backed away. "No."

"Oh, alright…" Slightly flustered, Mr. Weasley turned to leave. "Well in that case… come along, Hermione."

She smiled gently at Snape. "We'll take good care of him, Professor," she said. "I'll send you a note to let you know he's alright."

She felt his gaze at her back as he watched them make it safely to the house, Mr. Weasley leading the way with Harry. She had just stepped onto the porch when he called out to her.

"Miss Granger."

The solemn voice barely reached her ears. She turned around. Snape's black coat made it seem as though he was one with the surrounding darkness.

"Nagini is in Godric's Hollow," he said. "We're going to need that sword…"


	16. Lupin's Two Pennies' Worth

His mind felt woolly. All he could recall was the slightly stale smell of cigarettes and the sound of a furiously beating heart close to his ear, but the memories were blurry and vague…

He opened his eyes slowly, surprised to find himself not in Ron's room as he had expected, but in the tattered, old sofa by the Weasley's fireplace. A pair of bright brown eyes was watching him attentively.

"Hermione…?" Harry scrambled to get up, but a piercing pain in his arm made it a knotty exercise to do so gracefully. "Merlin," he croaked, "I feel… Where's my glasses?"

"I'm so happy you're alright." Hermione leaned in to give him a cautious hug. "I was terribly concerned. We all were."

Harry shook his head to clear out the fog. "What…?"

"Is he up yet? They're asking for…" Ron rounded the corner from the kitchen, a pearly white grin lighting up on his face. "Oh, great! You're awake!"

Harry winced from all of the attention. "What happened to me?"

"Don't you remember?" Hermione's eyes grew with worry. "Snape said Nagini bit you." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "you know, in Godric's Hollow?"

"Oh. Right…"

Yes. He did remember now. Sharp, deadly fangs and a scaly body with the strength of a charger... He looked down on his arm to see a white bandage wrapped around the aching bit.

"She got my arm then." He shook his head again. "That snake is just…"

"That was an incredibly dangerous thing to do, Harry." Hermione looked almost hurt. "But I'm not going to say I told you so."

Ron snorted. There was a small bruise around his eye, as though he'd been in a bit of a squabble. "Blimey, Hermione," he said with a fond smile. "You just did. Take it easy on him."

He sat on the sofa next to Harry. "The guests will be here in a couple of hours. I hope we'll manage to steer clear of Aunt Muriel." He gave a put-upon shudder before turning to him. "How are you feeling, mate?"

"Fine, I suppose…" Harry blinked. "I slept an entire day?"

"Your birthday, mind you. And another night." Ron clucked his tongue. "Mum was quite distraught. She'd made you a cake and everything."

Harry groaned, feeling the touch of humiliation creep up his cheeks. "Merlin's folly. I'm sorry."

"Relax." Ron patted his knee. "You're alright. That's what matters."

"Quite." Hermione squeezed his uninjured arm. "Go get dressed, Harry. I'm sure the wedding will be exciting. Wizarding traditions and everything." She beamed.

Ron just rolled his eyes at her and stood.

"What happened to you?" Harry pointed at his face, a small smile ready despite his embarrassment. "Have you been playing keeper against Ginny?"

But Ron was suddenly serious.

"Just a moment, I …"

He dug in his pocket, pulling something out that was wrapped in a pink and golden napkin.

"I had to wrestle this from the twins…" He handed a small object to Harry. "They were rummaging in our room this morning, and I guess you must have left it behind..."

Morning light from the window caught on a golden chain. Hermione gasped.

"Harry!"

He could feel the colour draining from his face.

 _Jesus Christ_ …

"Oh God, Harry." Hermione's eyes were wide with fright, fixed on the locket in his hand. "You took it off?"

"I…"

"Did you forget about it?" Her eyes flashed. "Harry, that… _thing_ is too important to leave scattering about!"

"I didn't!" Harry backed away from her. "I mean, I _know_. I don't like to sleep with it, is all…"

"No harm done," muttered Ron. "Apart from my eye though. My brothers have no idea…"

But Hermione still looked murderous, her eyes never straying from it.

"Don't worry," said Harry quickly. "I _know_ how important it is. I swear I'll never take it off again." He reached out to touch her hand. "Not until we find a way to destroy it."

"Alright. Good..." Hermione huffed. "Good, Harry. I'm sorry for yelling at you. It's just…"

"I _know_." He put the chain over his head once again. "I'll keep it on, I promise."

The locked slipped beneath his shirt, oddly hot against the skin on his chest. It was heavier than he remembered. Suffocating. It almost seemed to weigh down on his very heart…

"Oh right, Harry." He nearly startled when Ron snapped his fingers. "Before I forget. Remus wants to see you. If you're feeling up for it, that is."

"He does?"

"Yeah." Ron stretched his long arms. "He's outside with the others if you'd like to catch him now. He's been awfully concerned for you."

"Really?"

"He feels guilty about you getting hurt," said Hermione. "Personally, I think he feels responsible for you. Your Dad was his closest friend, after all."

"Yeah…" A small smile crept onto Harry's face. "Yeah, I'll go find him right away. Thanks..."

Butterflies and bees were buzzing lazily atop the grass and hedgerow, and the sun was already high in the sky over the pink linen marquee in the Burrow's front yard.

The supporting poles were decorated with white and gold flowers and inside, the tent was bustling with activity. But Harry passed around it towards the front, where a large white arch of flowers marked the entrance to the garden.

There, on a table covered in a cloth in the same shade of pink as the marquee, a man was filling rows and rows of tall crystal flutes with a sparkling, golden drink.

"Hi."

Remus was in his best dressing robes, his usually scruffy hair combed back and out of his face. It didn't do much for his appearance as the premature wrinkles and scars were even more visible than normal, but he seemed tranquil and content.

"Hello Harry." He tuned with a gentle smile in his eyes. "So you have finally decided to wake, hm? I trust you're feeling better?"

"Yeah. I'm good, thanks." He sat down on the grass behind the table, partly out of view from the house. Remus watched him a moment before handing him a glass.

"Would you like a drink," he asked, "in honour of the big day that passed you by?"

"Sure." He accepted the flute, wrinkling his nose against the slightly acidic taste of champagne.

"Happy seventeenth, Harry." Remus sat down next to him with a glass of his own, careful so as not to dirty his clothes. "For a moment there I was afraid you'd never live to be that old."

Harry snorted. "I guess I'm hard to get rid of…"

Remus didn't laugh. "You were lucky," he said. "If they hadn't given you an antidote in time, you wouldn't be sitting here with me now…" He took a sip from his glass, watching Fred and George drag an enormous bunch of golden balloons through the entrance to the tent.

"All is well that ends well, right?" Harry attempted a smile, but Remus was apparently more shaken by his brush with death than he himself was.

"Actually, Harry," he said, "there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"Yeah?"

Remus turned to watch him. "It's about this… bond that you and Severus seems to have."

Harry froze. He didn't want to discuss the slavery spell. Not right now when the world was bright and sunny. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I don't think it's a good idea to talk about that here…"

Remus looked towards the house, as though to make sure that no one else were around. "I just want to know if you're safe around him," he said a little lower. "You gave us an awful scare…"

Harry pulled some grass from the ground. "I'm feeling fine," he said. "And it was Snape who brought me back, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I know." Remus frowned. "But he was clearly not doing his job properly in the first place. Harry, you were bitten by a 3oo pound snake on Severus' watch. You-know-who's pet, no less."

"That was hardly his fault though."

It wasn't, was it...?

"Do you know that for sure?" Remus asked. "That's the man who killed Dumbledore for you."

He smoothed out his wispy moustache, seeming strangely nervous. "Harry… I'm not certain if I should be telling you this, but I fear what might happen to you if you don't know who you're dealing with..."

Slightly alarmed, Harry turned to meet his gaze. Remus had never talked ill of Snape before, at least not blatantly so. "What is it?"

Remus hesitated. "You're such a very young man, Harry," he said quietly. "You don't yet know the world. And your old Snape is… Well, let's just say that his morals are a bit crooked. You see? A bit off-colour."

A chill went down his spine. "What are you trying to tell me?"

The man rested his elbows on his knees, watching the drink in his hands. "Ah," he said, "but you are already aware that he was a Death Eater in his younger days. I know you've been suspicious about him from the get-go. You had your own reasons for that. And I'm sure you understand that Severus is no saint… It's just…"

Remus sighed through his nose, an act that oddly enough reminded Harry about Snape.

"The things he did for you-know who, they weren't nice, he-"

Harry edged closer. "He told me he brewed potions…"

Remus barked a hollow laugh. "Yes, potions." He shook his head. "Harry, do you know what the drink of despair does to a person?"

He shifted uneasily. "I suppose I can imagine…"

"Yes…" Remus watched him with a far-away look. "He invented spells too. Several of them killed people I knew. And they were merciless." He sighed again. "But there's something else as well, Harry. Something that concerns you... And you parents."

Harry lowered his voice a bit, wary of the people close by. "If this is about the prophecy, then I sort of already know…"

"You know, huh?" Remus looked slightly taken aback. "And you don't think…?" He gazed out over the grounds a moment. "Well that hardly matters now..."

He turned back. "Listen, Harry. I wasn't trying to backstab Severus in any way, know that. It's just that… well, he wasn't entirely rational in the first place, and with that kind of infatuation you can't really expect him to have a sound-"

Harry interrupted. "Infatuation?" He felt his unease morph into something bigger, something that was almost dangerous. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Ahh…" Remus leaned back a bit. "So he didn't tell you _everything_? Well, I hardly expected him to-"

Harry jerked his head. "He didn't tell me anything at all!"

"No?" asked Remus mildly. "Then how…?" He shook his head. "Never mind. But you do know that Lily was the reason why he broke with his old ways?"

"I guessed," said Harry. His voice was hard. "He said they were _friends_."

He was thinking about all the things Snape had said yesterday. Of his grandparents' murder, of his parent's, of Snape knowing Lily, and there was something that seemed just wrong with it all. In the light of day, Snape's devotion to a long lost childhood acquaintance seemed suspicious and shady, and it made him wonder about things he'd rather not think about… Things that suddenly made him feel queasy and disgusted…

"Why did you think he was infatuated?" he asked. "What does that even mean?"

The former Defence professor closed his eyes. "It's just something Dumbledore once told to me," he said quietly. "When Severus was new in the order, before you got that scar." He pointed at Harry's forehead.

He leaned forward, apprehensive. "What was it?"

"Well," said Remus, "he said that Severus regretted what he'd done, and that he tried to stop you-know-who. In his own misguided way."

"How so?"

"I suppose he pleaded with him to be merciful."

"That's insane," said Harry. "Of course he wouldn't listen."

Remus chuckled humourlessly. "Oh, but the odd thing is, he actually did…"

"What?" He touched his brow. "But how…?"

"Harry." Remus looked at him sadly. "Severus never pleaded for your life, he didn't care. He asked for _Lily's_."

"Only her?" All of a sudden, Harry felt cold and raw, despite the warmth of the sun. "Why would he do that if he was so remorseful?"

"He wasn't." Remus looked dejected, as though talking about it made him feel ill at ease. "He wanted her, Harry," he said quietly. "I'm sorry you had to hear it from me, but he always did. It was clear to anyone who laid eyes upon him. James hated him for it."

Harry watched with detachment as Mr. Weasley fussed with the gold-rimmed flap that covered the entrance to the wedding tent. His heart felt empty.

But in his mind, all the pieces seemed to fit into place. This explained _everything_.

If Snape had tried to steal Lily from James, it explained why they were enemies. It was also the likely reason behind the Marauders' deplorable behaviour, which had unsettled him so much when he had looked into Snape's pensieve. It even explained Snape's blatant hatred for _him_ when he entered Hogwarts.

"But why did my mother die then?" he asked. "If Snape convinced you-know-who to spare her?"

Remus' golden-brown eyes watched him sadly. "She wanted none of it," he said. "Your mother had a heart of gold. She placed herself in front of you and caught the first spell. But you already know that."

He nodded weakly. "Yeah…"

Remus stirred. "I'm sorry again," he said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm not trying to tell you that Severus is evil through and through, but I want you to know that he certainly has the capacity for it."

Harry rubbed his hands over his face, frowning. "You think he might betray me then?"

"I don't know." Remus stood, his knees popping from the lack of movement. "I've been told you're allowed to go with him as you please." He brushed off his robe, looking at him guardedly. "I respect that, and I'm aware that I don't know everything. But I'm not entirely sure it's the right thing to do."

Harry stood as well. "Alright," he said bleakly. "Thank you for telling me. I've been so frustrated with all of these half-truths. At least now I know."

Remus patted him on the back. "Of course, Harry. Anytime."

They walked side-by-side up to the house, neither saying another word until Mrs. Weasley discovered that he was out and about. But even through her fussing and cosseting, Harry's thoughts were far away.

It was impossible to wipe away the idea of Snape trying to break his family apart, and suspicion festered in his veins like a slow-moving poison.

That prophecy must have been a golden opportunity for Snape. A chance to get Harry and James out of the way so that he could have Lily all to himself.

He might even have done it on purpose.

Harry could only imagine the envy the man must have held towards James. An envy he seemed to hold onto even now, nearly twenty years later. Enough so to antagonise Harry, just because he looked like him.

But then again… what did he have to be jealous about now that Lily was long gone, and _he_ was the last remaining Potter?

Yesterday, Snape had looked like he regretted not having children on his own. He'd even looked miserable just because Harry had said so. And then there was that look upon his face when he was watching him…

Had he been trying to take James' place?

But on another thought, could it really be a coincidence that Nagini showed up in Godric's Hollow? So shortly after they had a major falling-out?

Were they even safe here, now that Snape was roaming around on his own?

Those very thoughts seemed to fulfil a prophecy of their own, because the next thing he knew was that the Ministry was under siege, and that Death Eaters were storming the wedding...


	17. Help From a Friend

"Were you in Regulus' room as well?" Hermione was looking frazzled, her previously groomed hair now escaping its confine. "Harry said he stayed there last night."

"Lay off, Hermione, I said I searched everywhere." Ron slammed the door shut behind him with a rattling thud. "I don't give two shits about where Snape is right now. My family has been attacked."

Harry watched Hermione wince. Ron's composure had been slipping since they fled from the disaster that ended Bill and Fleur's wedding ceremony, fickle twist of fate granting their escape. As the Death Eaters put fire to the pink marquee, the resulting chaos shielded them from capture. It only helped a little when Mr. Weasley's patronus arrived to inform them that the others were still alive.

And then they arrived at number twelve, greeted by nothing but an abandoned plate of leftovers from dinner. A parting gift of dishes. Hermione had already cast _homenum revelio_ ; the house was well and truly deserted.

"Have Kreacher find him," muttered Ron as he sat down by the table with his head in his hands.

Hermione sighed wearily. "I'm going to go see in the cellar," she said. "Perhaps my spell passed it by."

Harry doubted that. He put a hand on Ron's arm.

"I think I understand a bit more now," said Ron. "About war and everything…"

"Hey…" Harry gave his shoulder a squeeze. "They'll be alright."

He sat down and picked up Hermione's forgotten cup of tea, grimacing at the bitter taste. It had gone cold.

"Ron…?"

"Yeah?" Ron lifted his head a bit to look at him.

"Don't you think it's odd?"

Ron seemed indifferent. "What is?"

"He obviously must have known…" Harry pushed the cup away. The truth seemed to twist and turn in front of him, as treacherous and deadly as Nagini. "I mean, why hasn't he said anything?"

Ron blinked. "You mean Snape?"

"Yeah."

"I've no idea." He straightened a bit. "What should he have known?"

"About the attack." Harry watched Ron sharply. "He's in the inner circle of Death Eaters."

"But he's on our side." Ron frowned. "That's what he told McGonagall."

Harry sighed. "Something's been nagging me," he said. "Something Remus said the other night…"

"What?" Ron was sitting upright now, looking more and more suspicious.

Harry straightened as well. "He mentioned some rumours," he said. "About Snape being immune to veritaserum, remember? Isn't all that a bit too obvious for a coincidence?"

Ron had gone very still. "Yeah, maybe..." He thought for a moment. "Snape has always been acting odd around my family," he said. "It's like he's never liked us. And he did know that _we_ were there…"

"He didn't tell us about the attack on the ministry either," said Harry. "And last night, when I was with him, Nagini appeared…"

"And now he's gone. Blimey, Harry." Ron rubbed his hands over his hair. "You're giving me a headache."

Hermione appeared in the doorway and they both turned in their chairs.

"Anything downstairs?" Ron asked.

"Only mice." She shuddered. "Do you suppose he's been called away by you-know-who?"

"I've no idea." Ron got up from his seat, scowling. "But I don't know if I care that much either. I'm off to bed."

"Yes," said Harry coldly. "I believe he has."

Hermione looked at him oddly.

"Oh," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "Well, I guess there's nothing to do but wait..."

He could not blame her for being confused. His conflicting emotions made even him feel ill and dizzy. One day, everything would seem clear as glass, and the next, his heart would fill with doubts and misgivings…

He had questioned Snape's sanity earlier in the day, and now he was nearly starting to wonder about himself as well. How could it be that he wanted Snape to come back when he'd never felt as deceived by anyone else in his entire life?

And was it true what Remus had said, about Snape being infatuated by his mother? He almost did not dare believe it.

They stayed there in the kitchen, waiting. Only a few candles were alight, making the grained oaken surface of the enormous table glow in a warm, deep brown. They sat together at just one end, eating Harry's birthday cake, which Hermione had brought along in her beaded bag. Ron did not return.

And so it was, much later, that Harry felt the prickle of the wards alert him. They heard the floorboards creaking in the hall. Snape.

An unexpected dislike coursed through him when the slave appeared in the kitchen. Snape was dragging his feet a bit, and for a moment, he leaned heavily on the doorway. But he quickly composed himself when Hermione's quiet cough alerted him to their presence.

"You're back." Snape seemed relieved.

"You didn't expect us?" He straightened in his chair, a hand resting on the table above his wand. "I'll admit I'm just as surprised to see you…" He flicked it, making the door to the kitchen snap shut.

Snape gave him a look that seemed to say ' _what have I done_?' But it only served to fuel Harry's resentment. _Hypocrite_. How dared he seem that innocent?

"Have a seat, Professor." Hermione pushed a chair out with her foot. It scraped against the floor with a jarring, uncomfortable sound.

Snape accepted it, watching Harry warily. "I heard about the attack," he said.

"Of course you did." Harry's voice was frigid. For several seconds, the room was completely silent.

Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. "Where's my manners?" she said, sounding baffled. There was a plate on the table, and she quickly slid it over to Snape. "Have some cake, Professor. It's Mrs. Weasley's, quite delicious. I assume you like chocolate?" She breathed out.

"I do…" Snape looked at her in hesitant appreciation. Harry scowled.

Hermione's eyes darted between them. When stony silence prevailed once more, she said, "There's something we need to talk about…"

Harry finally tore his eyes away from Snape. "What's that?"

She folded her hands tightly on the table. "I'd really prefer to wait until Ron's awake, but it's rather important." She looked at Snape. "And maybe you can help…"

Snape was eating so he responded with just a small dip of his head.

"I talked to Luna Lovegood," said Hermione. "At the wedding. You see, I've been thinking of that cup."

Harry's interest sparked. For a moment, he forgot about Snape. "What about it?"

"Well, it belonged to one of the founders," she said. "An heirloom. Just like the locket…"

Two pairs of brown eyes strayed to Harry's chest. He shifted.

"You're thinking about Ravenclaw's diadem?" asked Snape.

Hermione looked up. "Yes."

"There's a diadem?" asked Harry eagerly. "That's our best clue yet! Where is it?"

Snape grunted. "That's the problem," he said. "No one knows. It's been gone for centuries."

"I'm aware of that," said Hermione, "but is it really so unlikely that Riddle might have found it?"

Snape had nothing to say to that. Harry groaned.

"This is just typical," he said. "How are we supposed to find it then?"

Hermione fidgeted. "I thought we'd ask the elves…"

"Yeah?" Harry was doubtful. "I could call Dobby…?"

"Not like that, Harry," she said. "We'll need all of them to search."

The room was darker now; one of the candles had gone out. Snape stirred. "Actually," he said, "maybe that isn't such a bad idea. We need to go to Hogwarts anyway, to get the sword."

"On with the sword again." Harry scoffed at him. "I bet you're perfectly capable of destroying this without it." He put a hand on his shirt, feeling the contours of the locket resting hot against his chest.

Snape watched him for a moment. He had finished his cake and his hands were in his lap. "We could ask Dumbledore's portrait," he said to Hermione. "I suggest we pen a note to Minerva. Maybe she can help us."

"Good idea, Professor." Hermione perked up, ignoring Harry. "Do you think he might know something?"

"Is that even safe?" Harry was getting more and more irritated. It felt like they were plotting over his head. "And since when did we decide on going to Hogwarts anyway?"

"Why are you so grumpy, Harry?" Hermione seemed to grow annoyed as well. "Do you have any better ideas? If so, this is the time to tell us."

He didn't think her idea was bad in and of itself. In fact, he wasn't really sure why he was upset. Apart from Snape being a right bastard, of course.

That… and he seemed to be putting a great deal of faith in Hermione…

"Do you really think he wants to help us?" he asked her, not caring that his behaviour might appear erratic. He pointed at Snape. "That…Death Eater," he ground the words out like a curse, "just want to put us in harm's way. Don't you remember that I was bitten?"

Snape looked like he had been slapped across the face. "I've told you a number of times," he said, "I'm not capable of betraying you, I-"

"Harry!" interrupted Hermione, eyes wide. "What's got into you?"

But Harry wasn't listening "Who told you to open that foul mouth of yours anyway?" He got up from his chair, approaching Snape.

"First you send a snake on me. Then when that fails, you have your friends attack decent people -at a wedding of all things. Then, when that doesn't kill me either, you keep on betraying us by going back to that monster. And those are only the least of your sins. Give me one reason to keep you alive!" The grip on his wand was so tight his hand cramped. For every word, his anger seemed only to grow in ferocity.

"Harry! No!" Hermione pulled at his arm, but he wrenched out of her grasp.

"What were you doing?" he nearly shouted at Snape. "When you were with you-know-who just now? I'd very much like to know!"

Snape watched him from his chair in the corner, stunned, and it felt good to have him looking up like that. It gave a feeling of control.

"He had requested a potion of me…"

"And so you made it." Harry spat out the words before turning around. He couldn't stand another moment in their presence, didn't know what he'd do if he stayed.

"I didn't," said Snape. But the door had already slammed shut.

Harry's disposition confounded her. Had not everything been well between those two only yesterday?

Hermione watched Snape retreat into the shadows of his corner with the heat of a blush on her cheeks. He looked stricken. He was older than Harry. Wiser and stronger, yet in their twisted relationship he was the one at a distinct disadvantage. She felt his humiliation keenly.

She thought he had seemed tense all night, and for good reason, because Harry had been horrid. But as she sat there, watching him pick up the pieces of his dignity, Snape's potion-stained hand suddenly twitched.

It was an involuntary movement, peculiar enough to draw her attention. Due to the dim lighting, she had not noticed until then that he was trembling.

"What's wrong with you?" She didn't mean for the words to come out so harshly, but she was both upset and scared.

"Nothing," said Snape, with an annoyed jerk of his head. He looked like he wanted to be far away.

"Did he curse you?"

Snape grimaced. "No, of course not."

"Not Harry," she said impatiently. " _You-know-who_."

Snape grunted, shaking his head a little.

"He did, it's obvious." She pointed at his hands. "Shouldn't you take something for that? Professor, the _cruciatus_ can give you permanent nerve damage!"

"Don't you think I already know that?" Snape scowled at her. "Try and restrain your nosiness, Miss Granger."

"Have you run out of potion?" she asked persistently. "I can help you with the brewing if you're-"

"Enough." Snape's eyes flashed. "There is no point. Please desist harassing me."

"I'm only trying to help!" She threw her arms wide, exasperated.

He gave another tiny headshake, and she let her arms fall down to her sides. "Professor," she said in a softer voice. "I understand that Harry's…attitude must affect you terribly. But neglecting your own health is not a good way to react to that. To be frank, I worry quite a bit about you…"

Snape sighed. "I already told you, girl," he said. "There is no point for me to take a potion. And there is no use for you worrying either. I can take care of myself."

"Okay…" She sighed as well, conceding although she doubted his honesty.

But there were other things that needed her attention. She sat down again, pulling a muggle pen and a piece of parchment out of her bag. "I don't care what Harry says," she muttered, smoothing it out on the table and pushing it towards Snape. "We should write to Professor McGonagall anyway."

But Snape made no move to take it. "No," he said. "I cannot disobey."

She stared at him silently, seething, the righteous wrath for all of the oppressed burning fiercely in her heart. "Fine," she said at last. "I'll do so myself."

She finished the brief, implicit note, charming it into a paper airplane the way she had read was common practice in the Ministry of Magic. For lack of an owl, she sent it through the fireplace. Snape neither moved nor spoke.

He just sat there, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, gazing vacantly at the darkened window.

She knew what he was thinking.

"You love him, don't you?" Her voice was soft. She extinguished the last remaining candle with her breath. It flickered and died and the room fell into shadow. "I can tell."

 _Oh, Professor. What happened to you?_

He did not respond and so she sighed and walked out.

In the darkness of the night, Harry lay restless with thoughts he was powerless to drive away.

He resented Hermione's bossiness. She had trumped the discussion, pulling Snape along with her, and he felt humiliated to have walked out on them like a coward when his initial desire had been to take Snape to task.

It bothered him. She had even served him cake.

And what business did she have, bringing up the diadem in front of Snape anyway? What did she know about how far they could trust him? _She_ did not know him.

Did she?

Unless they had been speaking…?

The errant thought struck him hard. Harry frowned to himself as a new, wholly unexpected feeling spread in him. It wasn't hatred this time, but although it resembled that in some ways, this was more uncomfortable… It festered, settling somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach…

Why was Hermione so familiar with Snape now? Snape was _his_ slave.

Even the cake was his. And _he_ was the one who knew that Snape liked chocolate in the first place…


	18. The Break in The Wave

**A/N**

 **I started a new story the other day, a HGSS called Angel's Trumpet. It kept bugging me, and I was in dire need of something a little lighter. I'll try not to let it affect TGC too badly though, it is still my favoured child.**

 **Cloudshape: You might want to wear a helmet and gloves for this one…**

* * *

Much later, he would recognise that day as pivotal, as a break in the wave. Many years from now, Harry would still invent and reinvent that day, driving himself crazy over asking how he could have stopped the relentless downhill that his life had become. But there were so many things to blame, and the line between innocence and guilt was so blurred, that he almost did not know which part of the story to regret. The only comfort he ever received was that he never found the answer.

The events that took place however, remained vivid in his mind until his dying day, right down to the littlest things: The way the moonlight had caught on the spiral bedposts, the trails of fingerprints in the dust on Sirius' desk, the scent of a burnt-our cigarette. It all stood out to him in clear detail, right down to Snape's reading glasses that had remained forgotten on a pile of old books.

He remembered not having slept much that night, but he also remembered how the rustling of paper had woken him, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

Someone was there, in his room…

The figure was blurry in the darkness. Harry turned his head slowly, a hand creeping beneath the pillow to where he had put his wand, the other one grasping the locket that lay across his chest. The adrenaline made his heart beat in contrary to the stillness of his body.

But the trespasser was unmistakeable. Bent over the old album Hagrid had given him when he was twelve, his greasy hair hanging limply to his shoulders, Snape was devouring each page with the hunger of a starving man.

White dots danced in front of Harry's eyes. He forgot about his wand as something dark and dangerous claimed the last vestiges of his rationality. It was as though the battle within him finally reached its apex, creating a violent turmoil where the only possible outlet was a blind, heinous rage.

Once, he might have welcomed Snape to look at those pictures, might even have delighted in doing so with him, but between then and now something in him had grown twisted and hard.

Yesterday, he had been able to curb his frustration, but this… it sent him over the edge.

" _You_ …"

Snape startled and turned as Harry lunged from the bed, crushing him up against the wall with an iron grip on his woolly coat. The album fell to the floor, its spine breaking with a dull snap.

"How _dare_ you?" Harry heard another crack as a glass of water on the bedside table burst inexplicably into a thousand sharp pieces. Snape watched him with wide eyes. He could see fear in them and it gave him a warped satisfaction.

"You _wanted_ her." he struggled to stay coherent, the tears that threatened to well up enraging him, "I _know_ you did. Remus told me all about your sick obsession."

Snape seemed to shatter a bit at those words, and Harry tightened his grip mercilessly, revelling in his ability to hurt him. He sensed something breakable in Snape, something he instinctively knew he had the power to crush. And wouldn't it feel good…

"You wanted her," he repeated. " _Didn't you_?"

Snape did not try to fight back. Harry chuckled darkly. He had finally found the courage to make a clean breast. It wasn't frightening anymore, but liberating. "Deny it all you want," he said, "but I _know_. I _know_ it was you who relayed the prophecy to your precious _Dark Lord_."

Snape paled. "Harry," he croaked, "I…"

But Harry would not listen. "I hate you." His voice shook with emotion, broken and dangerous at the same time. "Don't call me that, because _I hate you_ and I'll never forgive you for this!"

His breathing was harsh, mirroring the heaves of Snape's chest beneath his fingers.

"What did you think?" he asked, with genuine confusion. "That you could be worthy of her? _You_? That she _ever_ would have let you-"

"Don't!" Snape's eyes flashed with a strange, wild blaze and he wrenched free of Harry's grasp. "Don't," he said again, looking slightly mad. "I _loved_ her."

Harry didn't understand what happened next. Before he knew what drove him, his fist connected with the side of Snape's face with all his pent-up anger and frustration. The blow was unexpected and the man reeled backwards, hitting the wall again with his back, blood seeping from where one of his teeth had already been missing.

Harry did not know whether to cry or laugh; inside, he did a little of both. They watched each other, each silent but for the sound of their rough, irregular breaths. Snape put a hand up to his mouth, frowning when it came away red. Eventually, he let it drop to his side and closed his eyes.

But it felt like there was no turning back, and so Harry took a step closer. "Don't you dare," he said hoarsely, "take that word in your mouth. You're not worthy of it. You're a filthy murderer for killing them and a coward for not telling me."

Snape winced, showing off his yellowed, crooked teeth. "Please," he murmured, "Let me-"

"Was that why you were so cruel to me at Hogwarts?" interrupted Harry. "Because she wouldn't have you?" He laughed, and the sound was hollow even in his own ears. "Or maybe it was because you were jealous of my Dad?" Snape looked away, mortified.

"It was." Harry made a disparaging sneer. "Did you really dare to think that _you_ should have been my father?"

Snape just stood there, leaning against the wall, resigned. But the truth of those words were written in the dark, lifeless eyes. How _dared_ he look so broken? Like he wanted to die… like he had _any_ right to?

"I should have killed you," said Harry flatly. "As soon as Dumbledore cast that spell. I sure want to do it now, but you don't deserve it anymore."

He took a deep breath before delivering the final blow. "And I'm not as bad as you. I could _never_ be like you and I'm so relieved I don't have to suffer the shame of having you for a father."

* * *

 _What you seek is probably where our old friend put it before departing. There is a Board meeting in the Great Hall on the fifth, and as far as I can tell, the Headmaster considers himself of equal standing to his master._

Hermione looked down on the crumpled note in her hand. Morning light from the window fell on the kitchen table, illuminating the numerous grooves and kettle marks that marred it. She sighed as Ron put a cup of tea in front of her.

"Thanks." She smiled faintly, gratified that his mood had improved since the day before. "So you think we should go then?" She smoothed down the letter for the umpteenth time, unsure why she was feeling so nervous about it all.

"Of course," said Ron lightly. "We need the sword, don't we? Besides, we _know_ that McGonagall is on our side."

"Yes." Hermione braced herself. Against what, she did not yet know. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"Morning, Mate." Ron's smile faltered as Harry entered the room. He looked dreadful, as though he hadn't slept at all, the rings beneath his eyes in stark contrast to his pale cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said curtly, picking one of Molly's biscuits form a platter on the table. Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Ron.

"We need to talk, Harry," she said, holding the letter up. "This arrived. It's from Professor McGonagall."

He took it, reading it through with a frown between his eyes. "A board meeting," he said pensively. "That should keep them occupied for a while…"

"Yes." Hermione took the note back. "It might be our best chance to get in. The Headmaster's office ought to be empty as well…"

"What do you suppose that means," asked Ron, pointing over her shoulder at the last passage. "Of equal standing…?"

"I've no idea," she said. "We should ask…" She looked towards the door. "Where is Professor Snape anyway?"

Harry was about to pour himself a cup, but froze mid-movement. She could have sworn his face grew even paler. "I've no idea," he said. But there was something definitely not right.

"Really?" she asked, suspicious. "Harry, did you two argue again?"

The look of discontent that passed over Harry's face said it all. She huffed.

"I don't know why you're so angry with him all of a sudden. Was it something he did?" She frowned. "You know, I'm getting kind of worried about him. It seems to me…I don't know, like he's losing his spirit or something…"

"How come?" asked Ron. He was sitting next to her, tearing a scone apart with his long fingers.

"Yesterday he…" She hesitated. Telling might be a break of trust, but Harry was her best friend, and there was a real chance he held the solution to the problem. At least she hoped he did.

"He was trembling," she muttered. "It must have been an unforgiveable, but when I insisted he take a potion, he just… well, it was like he didn't care anymore…"

Harry's face blanched for a heartbeat, but then his eyes hardened. "It serves him right," he said. "Besides, a potion won't do him any good unless I…" He trailed off.

"Harry!" Hermione was horrified. "What happened between you? Back at the Burrow, I was so sure you had made up. What's going on?"

"I'm not having this discussion," said Harry harshly. "If you see him, you can tell that traitor to stay away from me. I'm through with him."

The anger was very much real, she saw. But there was hurt in there as well. She gentled her voice. "Don't delude yourself into thinking he doesn't care, Harry. He's not as strong as he'll have you believe, he-"

Harry scoffed, unmoved. "Oh, I know that already."

"Harry, please," she said, "if you cut him, he'll bleed…"

For a fleeting moment, the conflict resurfaced in his eyes. Then it was gone, as though nothing had passed, and a chilling, dead emptiness claimed dominion.

"I'm going out," he said and slammed the door behind his back.

Hermione looked at Ron in confusion.

"There's something wrong," he said, and the words sent echoes through her brain.

"Yes." She breathed out shakily. "We have to do something... and quickly. Before it's all too late."

* * *

Potter's shifting temper hurt his head, hurt his _heart_.

Severus took another deep swig from the amber bottle of some unknown homemade brew he had found in the cellar. It burned his inside, but that was what he craved.

He was lost, like a man drowning on dry land, but from the bottom of that flask, he could hear the ocean calling him. Like the waves, he prayed for it to wash away the jagged edges in his chest, to smooth them out as the sea had done to the stones he had picked on the shore when he was a boy.

He shouldn't have let himself get attached. He knew from experience that it never lasted and he had been stupid to believe that something good would come his way.

That wasn't for the likes of him. He knew this. Like with his mother –a lifetime ago- and with… _her_ …

 _Lily, my heart_ …

They had all turned their backs on him in the end. He could feel it. The breath of the same beast that had claimed Eileen was hot on his neck.

But what did it really matter? He wouldn't have lived long anyway. The only thing he needed to make sure of, was staying together for the time it took to see Potter through this whole ordeal. Then no one would have any more use for him and he could succumb to it to do with him as it pleased.

Because he wanted to go home. To cross the vast ocean in his little vessel and reach the shores beyond. _Mother_ , he thought plaintively. _Now I know_ …


	19. Hermione's Intervention

Harry stopped on the stair the moment he heard low voices coming from the library. He had been on his own for a long time, hiding from the others in Sirius' old room with only his photo albums for company. Ron and Hermione had left him conspicuously alone, and more than once he'd had a feeling they were plotting something. They had been exchanging glances lately, more often than not over Harry's head and something inside of him seemed to twist and harden each time it happened.

This was why he slowed his gait and crept silently down the last portion of the stair, careful so as not to be discovered. Surely they were in there, huddled together and talking about him…

The door was slightly ajar. He edged closer until he could peek through the narrow opening. Compared to the kitchen, the library was a dreary place. The floor to ceiling bookcases were enclosed in glass doors, but the panes had cracked in several places and books and old papers littered the dusty floor. There was a low coffee table at the short end, along with a ratty old sofa. In it was Hermione, only not with Ron. Harry's heart gave an inexplicable jerk. _Snape_.

"Listen, Professor," Hermione was saying. From the way she was sitting beneath the window, her face looked pale against the rainy day outside. "I'm sorry for the way he's been acting towards you. Lately, he's been… I don't know. He's not been himself, I think…"

Ice flooded Harry's veins. Had Snape told her what he'd done? He edged forward to get a better view.

"It's not your fault, Miss Granger." Snape stood some ten feet away from her and his voice mirrored the tired look on his face. There was a purple bruise beneath his eye, the colour blending in with the dark circles beneath them, and spreading downwards all the way to his split upper lip.

So it was all out in the open then. Harry gritted his teeth. Why hadn't he healed himself? Stupid, disloyal Snape, flaunting his injury to get attention and sympathy. Surely, it was all a trick to get Hermione on his side.

"I know that," said Hermione, "but still…" She watched Snape carefully. "Professor, I've been thinking..."

Snape grunted, but Hermione didn't seem discouraged. "The Blacks are an old pureblood family," she said. "There must be something around here," she indicated the tall shelves around them with a vague gesture. "I don't know. A book or something that can tell us more about that slavery spell."

Snape had been leaning on the fireplace mantle, but he turned towards her, so that all Harry could make out of his expression was the sudden tenseness in his shoulders.

"And why," he asked slowly, "do you want to read about _that_?"

Hermione frowned. "Because I think you'd be better off if we reversed it," she said evenly. "Because I don't think that spell is doing either you or Harry any good just now."

"You forget why it's there then," said Snape. "Surely you realise the importance of our… quest?"

"Right." Hermione seemed almost angry. "I'm sorry if my question is too forward, Professor," she said. "But what happened to your face?"

"I tripped on the stair," said Snape curtly. He turned away from her.

Hermione glared at his back. "But why haven't you healed yourself?"

With a pang, Harry recalled that Snape couldn't. Neither healing potions nor incantations worked for a slave unless the master gave explicit permission, something he had learned on a dark summer's night at Hogwarts… Only then did it really sink in. He had hit Snape. On purpose. And there was no way to take it back.

Snape had crossed to the window to stare out onto the grey London streets. "That is none of your concern," he said to Hermione. "I have already asked you to detain you silly questioning. I'm getting tired of repeating myself."

Back in school, such harsh words from a teacher would have made Hermione quite pale, but this time she merely snorted. "Please," she said, looking at Snape askance. "Don't give me that tripe. You can't fool me anymore. I _know_ when you're lying."

"I'm _asking_ you then," said Snape, his back still turned to her, but his voice softening ever so slightly. "Leave it alone, Miss Granger. What's between me and Potter is not for you to sort out."

"I will on one condition," she said, standing from the sofa. "Help me to research the spell."

Harry drew back a fraction as she walked over to the closest bookstand, looking the titles over as though she was trying to make sense of the filing system. Snape had turned towards her. "I'm doing no such thing," he said. "I couldn't, even if I wanted to."

"Then we have no deal, Professor," said Hermione firmly. "But _I'm_ going to research it anyway." She pulled a small footstool over to look in the highest shelf and both of them fell quiet for a time. Snape turned to stare out the dirty window again. Harry held his breath through their mutual silence until Hermione gave a muffled curse.

"Shit." One of the old books had fallen apart in her hands, scattering crumpled pages all around her feet. She sighed before bending to pick them up. "Oh, that's right," she said suddenly, turning her head to look at Snape. "I forgot to mention it to you, Professor… Professor McGonagall replied to my note. She said there's a Board meeting in the Great Hall tomorrow."

Snape had gone over to the tattered old chair he had slept in the first night they were there. He sighed as he sat down. "That's good," he said absently. "If the meeting is at Hogwarts, all the staff are usually required to join…"

"You could try for a little more enthusiasm." Hermione gathered the loose sheets, stuffing them haphazardly into the empty cover. "This might be our only chance to get in. But there's one problem though," she said, "how are we supposed to get through the wards? Do you think they will still recognise you as a teacher?"

"Perhaps," said Snape. "But if Hagrid is still there, the easiest way might be to just ask him." He wiped a hand over his face and even from a distance, Harry could see the slight tremor there. Hermione must have been right then. Voldemort _had_ cursed him.

The knowledge sent another jolt through Harry's chest. What would happen to Snape if he did it again? What if Harry didn't heal him? Would he die?

The thought was… too much right then. He focused his attention back on the others.

"You really didn't know that the wedding was going to be attacked, did you?" Hermione was saying. "Isn't it odd that he kept you in the dark like that?"

Snape shook his head, even though she was turned away from him and couldn't see. "No," he said. "The Dark Lord doesn't tell me everything."

Hermione stopped mid-movement as she was putting a book back in. "He distrusts you?"

Snape snorted. "Not in the sense you're thinking, surely."

"No?"

"No," he said. "I'd be dead if he did. But he doesn't trust anyone completely. Especially since his…resurrection. It's a right bother, actually."

"How so?"

"Nothing." Snape huffed. "It's just the endless rivalry between the Death Eaters. When he's so suspicious, we're left fighting between ourselves for a better position. But I won't bore you with the gory details."

"Oh." Hermione reached for a black book just above her head. "Well, as long as you're not found out," she said. "The problem then is that Harry thinks you're- Ah!"

Black smoke suddenly started to pour from the book in her hand and she let out a muffled shriek before tripping backwards off the footrest.

Harry was about to surge forward to her rescue, but Snape, who had been sitting close by, was quicker. He swiftly caught her by the arm, pulling her behind his back as he cast an unfamiliar spell at the book. The mist subsided, its origin laying harmless on the floor.

"Miss Granger," growled Snape. "Do pay attention!"

The man didn't appear to think that his actions were anything special, but at his spot in the hall, Harry blinked hard. Snape had stepped in front of him as well once, much in the same way… And then there was that time at Hogwarts when he'd insisted he wore a thicker jacket.

What did Snape think about him now? Now that he'd… done what he did? Did he hate him? And why was Hermione so friendly with him anyway. For some reason he thought about that a lot. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, but it did. It was annoying and made him feel antsy and aggravated.

It had been such a simple thing. Making sure he was warm. And it shouldn't really mean anything so why couldn't he let go of that? Snape shouldn't matter to him anymore. The man was false and a liar and a traitor and a murderer…

Nevertheless, Harry felt a stab of… something course through him. Why were Hermione and Snape suddenly so friendly? She had never had anything to do with him before, only Harry. But he could sort of see that they had things in common… Hermione liked books and she actually read them. Hell, she was even good at potions, at least compared to him.

He couldn't exactly fault her… But it felt like she was stealing.

They all stared at the dark book for a moment, Harry frozen just outside the door. Hermione looking rattled. Her breath hitched a couple of times before her gaze came to rest on Snape.

He had released her as soon as the danger was over, but Hermione suddenly reached out to grasp his arm. "Professor," she said intently, "If you love him, you _have got_ to talk to him."

"What?" Snape backed away from her, confused, but she held firm.

"If you don't, you'll both be sorry," she said. "There's something wrong with him, I can tell. I _know_ Harry."

Snape wrenched free from her grasp, taken aback by her change in mood. "Don't talk to me about love," he said darkly. "Love works in no one's favour. It is a curse, one that keeps all of us enslaved."

Hermione gasped. "That's not true!" She gaped at him. "I saw you back then. At the Burrow. The way you held him… Don't tell me you'd want it any other way because I'd have difficulties believing you."

"Then you know nothing about it," said Snape. There was a hard look on his face.

But outside of the door, Harry reeled. Love? What was Hermione talking about? Surely, Snape didn't…? After all that had happened?

"You don't mean that!" Hermione looked stricken, cold disbelief etched into her face as she stared at Snape. "You can't." Tears started to well in her eyes and she looked pitiful with her bushy hair stuck to her face. "Then there's no hope…"

Snape seemed to soften, looking like he regretted his candour. His hand jerked up as though he meant to touch her shoulder, but then he reconsidered, allowing it to drop to his side. "I'm sorry," he said. "Don't cry. You shouldn't take guidance from a damaged soul like mine. I just…" He sighed. "I have nothing left to give, but there is always hope. For you and Mr. Weasley. For Harry…"

Harry drew away from the door. He'd heard enough and their talk left him feeling torn and raw. He might have felt slightly sorry for Snape before, but the man had only himself to blame. Didn't he...?

He didn't know what to feel anymore. Compulsively, he fumbled for the locket around his neck. He slept with it now. Wore it at all times, frightened to death that it should get lost again. He was terrified even now. It felt like he was standing on a precipice, ready to tumble down into the abyss…

Numbly, he made his way downstairs.

* * *

Hermione was on a mission. After her heart-to-heart with Professor Snape, she knew what needed to be done; what should have been done long ago. Even if they lived to be a hundred, boys would always remain just that, and she was sick and tired of it, and of the way they always tended to avoid the unpleasant. It was time to take matters in her own hands.

Luckily, Professor Snape trusted her enough to let her lead him to the kitchen. She felt slightly bad for keeping him in the dark, but she doubted he would have agreed freely. She knew he must be frightened of Harry although he didn't show it, and his reluctance, albeit frustrating, was admittedly understandable.

Because she couldn't recognise Harry anymore. Over the last weeks, the kind and loyal boy she had known at Hogwarts had been replaced by someone who was angry and temperamental and who's actions were erratic and sometimes downright cruel. She knew Snape had been lying when he said he tripped on a stair. There was only one explanation for the bruise on his cheek and it made the blood turn to ice in her veins. Her old friend would never do something like that, not to anyone, and the uncomfortable feeling in her gut grew with every passing hour. Ron was right. Something was terribly wrong.

As for Snape… she knew he was near his breaking point. She didn't need to smell the alcohol on his breath to realise.

"Ron!" She stopped with her hand on the kitchen door, giving Snape a reassuring look as he frowned at her in question. "Ron, are you downstairs?"

Ron's ginger head peeked out from the loo in the hall. Grimmauld was the kind of house that could be full of people without anyone knowing where the others were. It really was a grim, old place. "I'm here," said Ron, "what's up?"

"Good." She opened the door. "Join us, will you? Where's Harry?"

"Oh, alright. He's in there I think." Ron nodded at the kitchen, wiping his hands on his trouser legs.

Harry was, staring vacantly out the window, but the moment she pushed a reluctant Snape inside, something in his eyes darkened.

"Don't leave, Harry," she said quickly. "We have a problem."

"What?" He frowned at them. Beside her Snape shifted uneasily. "What problem?"

"You, Harry." She pointed at the table, indicating for them to sit. "You're the problem."

"I don't have a…" Harry exchanged a confused look with Ron, who shrugged placatingly.

"Yes, you do. Now come here." She scowled. "All of you. We're going to talk this through."

They grudgingly took their seats. Harry looked betrayed, Ron confused and Snape… Snape looked desperate. She hoped she was doing the thing right.

"I really don't see what your issue is, Hermione," said Harry. "Unless we're here to discuss the Horcruxes?"

"Can you explain this then?" She nodded pointedly at Snape's abused face.

Harry's eyes widened. "That," he said, "I don't…"

"Miss Granger." Snape suddenly leaned forward, the look on his face thunderous. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"I think you're under a lot of strain," she said, holding her ground, but only barely. "There's a difference."

"I've told you to leave well alone, you little dunderhead." Snape bared his teeth. "Have you no respect for-"

"Don't talk to us like that," said Harry angrily. His hands balled into fists on top of the table. "You have no right to call us names. You're not our teacher anymore."

Snape recoiled, his expression immediately going back to neutral. "Forgive me, Master," he said, sending a chill up her spine.

"Harry," she said shakily, "I can see that you're angry with the Professor, but it's difficult for me and Ron to be around you two when we don't know why. Won't you explain what he has done?"

"He can explain it himself," said Harry sourly. "Snape. Tell them what you did."

Snape looked cornered. He hesitated just long enough for her to realise that the spell would force him to reply in earnest and the guilty feeling in her stomach festered. This was all her idea…

"I'm the one who told the Dark Lord about the prophecy," he said in the end, looking away from them. "That's why Potter and… Lily died."

"We already know that," said Ron calmly, and Hermione felt a rush of gratitude and affection towards him. At least _he_ was on her side.

"Yes," she said, "Harry, I thought you had sorted out all that. I mean, at the Burrow things seemed fine between you…"

"Fine?" spat Harry. He turned to Snape. "Tell them _everything_ ," he said, "tell them how you wanted me and my father dead so that you could have her all to yourself!"

Hermione's eyes widened as she finally understood. So this was what everything was about? Harry's mother? That was… well, it certainly explained a lot. She turned to Snape expectantly, but the Professor shook his head. "I swear," he said, "that wasn't what I wanted."

Harry scoffed. "So now you're telling me you never desired her?"

"No," said Snape, looking mortified, "that's not... I did. I…" He paused. "There was never anyone else for me, but I would not have intentionally…" He sighed heavily. "It was a mistake. A mistake I've paid for ever since."

Harry appeared unmoved. "But you said you wished I was _your_ son. Didn't you?"

"I did," said Snape, defeated.

"You should have taken me then," said Harry, and for the first time that night, his eyes held a measure of genuine hurt. "But instead I was sent to the Dursleys to grow up in a ratty cupboard. If you wanted me for your own, why didn't you?"

"That night I…" Snape bent his head down and Hermione knew that he must have carried this guilt with him for years. "I was there, you know…" he said quietly. "You were in a crib, crying, but I only saw _him_ …" He looked up. "I saw Potter."

Hermione sat deadly still in her chair. She barely dared to draw breath. Ron looked as though he was about to be sick.

"What do you think Mum would say," asked Harry, cutting the thick silence, "if she knew how you've treated me in school?"

Snape shook his head. "She'd hate me. But not as much as I've hated myself."

"Don't try and take the high road." Harry's pain seemed to give way to anger once more. "You've been bullied yourself, you had piss poor parents and still you did this to me. And now you say you _loved_ her?"

"I don't know what to say," said Snape. "My hate won out. I can't repair the past however much I want to."

" _Would_ you have taken me then? Knowing what you know now?"

Snape hesitated. "I'd like to think so," he said quietly. "I think I could have loved you…"

Harry chortled humourlessly. "You know," he said, "back then I would have been thrilled. Despite your sour disposition, I would have loved you right back. But now I wouldn't want someone like you. Now that you finally see, it's a little too late. In fact, you're my slave now, Snape. It's time you learned you place."

One more, the room was utterly silent. No one moved and the knot in Hermione's gut had started to become almost unbearable. There was really no way she could see that would fix this mess. Snape had been right. None of this had been her business, and she'd gone ahead and made things even worse than they already were.

She sank low in her chair, leaning her head on her hands. This had been a disaster… possibly the worst idea she'd ever had. Guiltily, she peeked up at Snape, but the man was staring fixedly at the opposite wall.

She couldn't blame him.

Harry stood from his seat. "I'm going to make dinner." He turned to point at Snape. "And don't expect to get any."

The Professor blinked, though he was otherwise still and silent. But Hermione felt her blood come to a boil once more.

"Come on, Hermione," said Harry. "Don't look at me like that. I missed meals at the Dursleys all the time."

"Harry, that's preposterous!" She cringed. "You can't deny him food. Everyone needs to eat."

"The bastard has enough flesh on his bones," he said. "Missing a meal won't do him harm. I can't stand to have him at the table while I'm eating."

"Harry! That's not the point!" She waved her arms. "It's a basic human right and you're doing it just to punish him. It's unnecessarily cruel!"

"Snape's been plenty cruel to me before," said Harry obstinately. "And he killed my family. You can't mean he doesn't deserve it. It's not as though I'm hurting him." There was a brief look of guilt on his face at that word, but this time it disappeared quickly.

"But you treat him as livestock," she cried. "As though he is your property!"

"He _is_ my property, Hermione."

At last, Snape stirred. His face was ashen, eyes staring fixedly ahead. "Master," he muttered, "may I leave?"

"Sure," growled Harry. "The sooner the better. And good riddance."

Snape clenched his fist at his side, climbing stiffly from his chair.

"Did you see the look on his face?" asked Harry once he was gone. "It almost seemed as though he wanted to hit me. Can you believe his audacity?"

"Well, you did take him to task," said Ron quietly. "He was frightened, I think. It makes sense."

"No," said Hermione. "He was _devastated_. Harry, he's putting his fate in your hands. Even if he should survive the duel, he's going to be bound to your service. Don't you see? He expects to die."

For a moment, Harry watched her with a vacant expression, as though he was trying to understand her words, but then the darkness won out. "Then let him," he said. "He's a waste of a life anyway."

He turned to the stove, floundering about and cursing when he burned his hand on the flame. "Screw this." He slammed the pan he was holding down on the counter top with a loud bang, making both Ron and Hermione jump in their seats.

Harry made a choked sound in the back of his throat. If he hadn't been so angry she could have sworn he was crying. "I'm _so_ tired of this place," he wailed. "When all of this is over I'll burn it to the ground!" He ran from the room, not even bothering to put out the flame.

"Exactly what were you trying to accomplish?" asked Ron once he had left.

Hermione felt the burning sting of tears behind her eyes. She blinked ferociously. "Anything but that."

"I see." Ron squeezed her shoulders. "I think we need another plan," he said soothingly. "One that doesn't involve those two in the same room."

She turned to hug him tightly around the waist. "Ron," she muttered, inhaling the woolly scent of his jumper, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too." He hummed into her hair. "But seriously, Hermione, what's wrong with Snape?"

She pulled back to look up at him. "What?"

Ron frowned. "He's a shade of who he used to be. And I have to say it again, there's something really off about Harry as well." He untangled from her to turn off the stove. "I never knew him to be this vindictive."

"Yes…" Hermione wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Yes, this isn't like him at all, is it? And everything became so much worse after they returned from Godric's Hollow…"

"Yeah," said Ron, off-hand, "or perhaps even since we found that blasted locket."

She whipped her head around, eyes wide in horror. She could feel the colour draining from her cheeks.

"Ron," she whispered. "That's it!"

* * *

A/N

This chapter gave me lots of trouble. Please review.


	20. Hogwarts

**A/N**

 **I'm sorry for being such a snail when you all have given me so much wonderful help and advice. I plead an attack of real life, which has a tendency to make my updates irregular. I'm very grateful for your reviews. Thank you!**

* * *

She cornered Harry the next morning, insisting that both Ron and the Professor come along. Snape had been reluctant. He did not seem to believe in her anymore, and she couldn't really blame him. But he humoured her nonetheless, since they were going directly to Hogwarts in any case.

She had considered doing it while Harry was asleep. The situation certainly warranted it, but in the end, she wanted to experience first-hand how the locket affected him. It was the only way to be sure they were right.

But like the day before, Harry seemed moody and hostile. He straightened abruptly when they entered the kitchen, throwing Snape a dirty look and frowning when Hermione indicated for him to sit down.

"I thought we were leaving?"

She moved closer, clearing her voice nervously, and cast the Professor a meaningful gaze.

"Harry," she said, and he looked up at her warily. "Hold still for a moment, please. There is something we need to deal with before we go."

"Again?" Harry glowered, but reluctantly did as she had asked. "What is it _this_ time?"

She sighed. He sounded sullen, but this time she knew that it wasn't entirely his own fault. The locket seemed to bring out the absolute worst in him, exaggerating his negative traits in a way that made him almost unrecognisable. It dawned on her then, that ever since they came back from the Burrow, she had been a tiny bit afraid of him…

"Come closer," she said softly, catching hold of his shoulder. He watched her distrustfully, stiffening at her touch as though she were his enemy.

She had no idea how to explain to him what was going on, so she merely leaned in to unclasp the chain from his neck, holding her breath as she lifted the locket away from his chest.

Harry watched her for a moment, and then his eyes drifted slowly across the room to where she knew Professor Snape was standing close to the door…

"Harry," she said cautiously, "how do you feel?"

Harry was silent. For a long time, he just sat there, frozen in place and with his gaze never straying from that point behind her shoulder.

She had no idea what went on inside his head, but to her, it seemed like the anger and mistrust he harboured slowly morphed into terror. He clutched his wand compulsively, no doubt to prevent his hands from shaking.

She shook her head sadly. "The locket," she whispered. "It was always the locket…"

"Wasn't it, Harry?" asked Ron softly, and Harry's head jerked.

Hermione turned to look at Snape, but the man's expression was unreadable. He said nothing, merely watched them from a distance as though this critical moment had nothing what so ever to do with him. The heavy silence lasted for several moments, but eventually, he stirred and looked away.

Ron broke the tension with a relieved sigh. "Merlin's balls," he muttered. "Am I glad _that's_ out of the way." He chuckled wryly, and once again, it struck her that she could not have managed without him.

"I suppose," she said quietly. For some reason she felt a little disappointed. But wasn't that ludicrous? She could not possibly have expected them to make peace again that quickly, could she?

At the very least, she knew without asking that Harry was back in his own skin. The timidity alone was evidence enough. And she could certainly understand his hesitance.

But there was also something rather disturbing about the look on Snape's face. He seemed almost indifferent, as though he didn't really believe that things had changed…

She examined the piece of innocent-looking jewellery in her hand and could not help but wonder what it would do to _her_ if she were to keep it. Would it make her suspicious and loathsome? Would it make her turn against Harry and Snape? Or put their perilous mission at risk?

Would she turn against Ron…?

Despite the heat that radiated from the embers in the large fireplace, she suddenly felt cold.

But at last, she had rectified her mistake, and now she could only hope it wasn't too late in coming. There was nothing more that she could do for Harry and the matter was out of her hands.

Ron stuffed the invisibility cloak into her bag with an air of finality. He handed it over to her. "So should we go?" he asked. "Hogwarts is waiting..."

"Right." Hermione leaned down to give Harry a tight hug, but not until she had tucked the locket safely into her trouser pocket.

* * *

They apparated to the outskirt of the Forbidden Forest, just outside of Hogwarts' wards.

This far north, summer was already past its peak and the mixed canopy was rustling in a chilly wind. They could see thick smoke from Hagrid's cabin some sixty yards ahead and Harry shivered in his thin summer jacket, wishing he had thought to bring an extra jumper.

No one had spoken another word since leaving Grimmauld Place, but as they crouched down behind a splaying hedge of wild boxwood, Snape brought out his wand.

"Wait here," he said, stepping forward and arching it in a pattern that Harry knew by heart.

A silvery animal burst from the tip, contrasting against the dark wood with strands of soft, shimmering light. At daytime, the magic was not as impressive as it was indoors or at night, but the gentle, familiar creature stole Harry's breath nonetheless.

 _A doe…_

Something tight seemed to have lodged itself in his throat, because it was suddenly difficult to breathe. While the others watched Snape's patronus pick her way across Hagrid's pumpkin field, Harry struggled against a pain that threatened to bring him to his knees.

Since Hermione removed the locket from around his neck, it had felt like he watched everything from outside of his own body. His heart had been completely numb, but now, images from the past weeks and scattered bits of conversations and thoughts intruded on his inner eye, making him feel sick and ashamed. He stole a glance at Snape, seeing the bruise on his face that his own hand had made, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut. It brutalised his soul.

He took a deep breath. He needed to apologise to Snape. He'd crawl on the ground before his feet if that was what it would take to gain forgiveness. But he couldn't. It just would not do. They had a Horcrux to destroy and an evil lord to defeat and this was not the time…

Harry wiped a trembling hand over his hair as Hagrid's familiar shape drew close to where they were sitting. The large, shaggy man stopped some ten feet away, pointing his pink umbrella at Snape's chest and the movement sent a ripple through the magical protection that surrounded the school.

"When's the last time yeh brewed Pepperup fer me?"

Snape took a small step back and raised his hands in a disarming gesture. "Not since ah…" he thought for a moment. "It must have been in eighty-six or eighty-seven…It was the first and only time though. You're allergic to kneazle fur."

Hagrid grunted, seeming satisfied. He made a wide arch with his concealed wand and the wards shimmered and dissolved. Then he stepped forward to tower in front of Snape as only Hagrid could.

"Severus…" To their surprise, instead of offering sharp words of disgust for killing Dumbledore, Hagrid grasped Snape around the shoulders and brought him into a rough hug.

At first, Snape seemed startled, but soon, he surrendered to the embrace, closing his eyes with his face all but buried in Hagrid's straggly beard. Then they pulled briskly apart.

"Harry. Hermione." Hagrid squeezed Ron's shoulder, hard enough to make his knees buckle. "I hope yer alright. Been worried sick, I 'ave."

"We're fine, Hagrid." Hermione smiled valiantly. "But we need to get into the castle. It's rather urgent."

"Aye." Hagrid sighed. "Minerva told me ye were up ter somethin'." He gave Snape a sharp look. "But the place is crawlin' with Death Eaters these days, so I hope yeh know what yer doin'."

Ron shuddered. "We know it's a risk," he said. "But there's no way around it. We need to talk to Dumbledore's portrait to-"

"Rubeus," interrupted Snape. "Do you think you can let the wards down for a couple of hours? We might need to get out quickly. If we can apparate or…"

Hagrid looked sceptical. "I'll be sure ter try," he rumbled. "But if any o' the Carrows notice, I'll be forced ter put 'em back up…"

"Of course." Snape pulled out his wand. "Thank you. We'll be as quick as we can. But if we're not back within a few hours, go look for us by the lake. There's a small cavern on the eastern shore, it has just enough space to hide in."

"Aye, I know it." Hagrid touched Snape's arm. "Yeh look out fer them, Severus. I'm countin' on yeh to keep 'em safe."

Snape nodded, meeting Hagrid's gaze. "I'll do what I can." He stared up towards the castle for a moment before starting the trek up the narrow stone stair. Up the hill before them, Hogwarts towered towards the grey sky.

"Farewell," muttered Hagrid. He turned towards Harry.

"A'right there, lad?" He extended a large hand to ruffle Harry's hair. "Yeh seem a bit peaky."

"I'm fine." Harry made an effort to put up a brave face, managing only a half-smile. "A little nervous, I guess…"

Hermione watched him with an anxious expression before she took Ron by the arm to walk in Snape's path.

"Professer Snape'll look after yeh," said Hagrid soothingly. "Not ter worry. As long as he's around he'll 'ave yer back covered."

"I know." Harry swallowed back the lump in his throat.

Perhaps he was just depressed from the ordeal with the locket, but he couldn't quite shake a feeling of impending doom. The nagging sensation that ate away at his gut intensified each time he watched Snape's dark form move towards the castle and even from this distance, he could see the medieval gargoyles on the ramparts. They snarled menacingly downwards, as though to warn them that something evil lurked within their walls…

"Best be on yer way then." Hagrid patted his back. "I'll be seein' yeh around."

"Yeah," said Harry, but it felt like a lie. "I'll see you later, Hagrid."

They climbed the narrow, crooked steps of the stairway that wound its way over the moor amongst the heather and shrubbery. When they reached the bridge, Snape was waiting for them beneath the parapet.

Harry turned his face up towards the grey sky. It had started to drizzle. Although he still worried about crossing the courtyard, at least it seemed the weather was on their side. It was the perfect backdrop for a disillusionment charm.

Despite the strain on their nerves, Hermione broke into a wide grin. "Ah, the Scots mist," she whispered. "It isn't quite the same in London, is it? The only fog you see is from the traffic..."

Snape looked wistful. "I know," he murmured, "I miss it too."

Ron stole a glance up the gravel lane. "It seems clear to me," he said. "There's nothing for it now. I suggest we hold our breath and dive in."

"Yes." Hermione tapped her wand to her own head, intoning the charm that would obscure her body from sight. Harry felt, rather than saw her gaze on him.

"Better get this over with," she said. "If we're lucky, we'll be rid of that awful thing."

Snape stirred from his crouching position. "There are probably many Death Eaters here," he said. "I know that Amycus Carrow is Headmaster, but his sister, Alecto, and Corban Yaxley are professors as well and several new ones might have been added to the Board of Governors."

Ron shook his head. "Let's hope we don't meet any of them then," he said. "And we should keep away from the main corridors." He looked at Snape. "I don't suppose you know a secret passage or anything that would lead us to the Headmaster's office unseen, do you?"

"No." Snape climbed stiffly to his feet. "But listen. If we run into anyone, you should all try to hide. Please," he added with a subtle glance at Harry, "no recklessness. If someone discovers us, conceal yourselves in a nook and leave it to me to distract them. Don't talk to anyone, even if we should chance upon an ally."

They all nodded solemnly and Harry hunched his shoulders to hide a blush. He had already learned this lesson...

Snape undid a few buttons on his cuff. Beneath the long sleeve, he wore a battered wristwatch with a brown leather strap.

"It's nearly ten," he said. "They should be good and busy by now. These things usually lasts for several hours."

Ron glanced at the muggle timepiece with a raised eyebrow. "Which way then?"

Snape took a deep breath and cast his own disillusionment charm. Even his voice came out muffled, but they could see the unclear outline of his body as he made it onto the footpath.

"Follow me."

They crept silently along the banister, keeping to the shadows beneath the arched roof when they reached the courtyard in front of the east entrance.

The last thing Harry heard before his return to Hogwarts was the melancholy caw of a raven, perched atop one of the pointed towers before the bridge behind them.

He shuddered. It felt like a malediction.

Inside, the halls and moving staircases were the same as they had ever been, yet there was something not quite right. There was an eerie, almost overwhelming stillness in the castle. It was as though someone had choked out all life, leaving behind a cold, empty shell along with the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

But they made it to the second floor without incident, pausing to listen when they reached the end of the passage that lead to the Stairwell Gargoyle. The lighting was sparse, making their concealment charms quite effective. Harry could not see them, but he smelled Hermione's shampoo and Ron's toothpaste, mixed with the scent of burning tallow from the wall sconces. A little to his left, he heard Snape's deep breathing.

"What's that?"

There was a slight tremor in Hermione's voice.

"I thought I heard something," she whispered. "In that corridor down there..."

Ron cleared his voice nervously. "Maybe it was just a house-elf?"

Hermione shifted. "Or Peeves…"

Suddenly, a loud grinding sound of stone against stone made Harry's blood freeze in his veins. Before he could think another thought, someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him roughly backwards, making him cradle his head out of fear of knocking into the wall.

But there was nothing behind him. He regained his footing and looked around confusedly, feeling Ron and Hermione squirm on his right. They were inside an alcove, squeezed together behind one of the suits of armour with Snape's larger form lodged in the opening before them. His disillusioned body blurred their view of the narrow corridor.

Snape pushed backwards slightly when the grating noise stopped and another sound echoed through the hall: The distinct click-clack of high heels on the tiled floor.

But despite their perilous situation, Snape's closeness renewed the sting in Harry's eyes. The familiar scent of stale smoke that seemed to cling to his robes was weaker than usual, as though he hadn't yet had the chance to have a cigarette that day…

There was a strange sensation behind his sternum; it felt almost like a premonition, a dire warning that he'd never get another chance. Without thinking, and knowing that Ron and Hermione could not see, he leaned his forehead cautiously on the back of Snape's shoulder, stealing without permission what little comfort he could gain.

Although he did not move away, Snape stiffened and the prickling in Harry's eyes only grew worse.

"Did you read my latest decree?"

Dolores Umbridge's voice fought its way through Harry's sorrow like a dull blade. He felt Ron tense up beside him, but couldn't bring himself to care.

"I suppose." The droning voice belonged to a male, probably Carrow, the Headmaster.

"Was it the one about the Mudblood leaflets or-" the voice sighed audibly, "-the restrictive spells on the Giant Squid?"

"The squid." Umbridge sounded positively jovial. "It's about time someone shackled that awful beast. There is no place for wild animals in a school."

"You should take it up with Malfoy then," said Carrow. "He's got a friend in the Magical Creatures Department." He chuckled knowingly. "I'm sure he can be persuaded to take a field trip…"

"Oh, he should," said Umbridge primly. "There's nothing as important as providing a safe environment for our children, now is there?"

When their voices disappeared down the staircase to the first floor, Hermione made a disgusted sound. "That woman," she grumbled. "I hate her. She's a bigoted, hypocritical…bureaucrat."

"We know," said Ron distractedly. "But did you hear what that bloke said? Malfoy is out of prison."

Reluctantly, Harry raised his head to look around and it was as though the movement broke an invisible spell. Snape moved away.

"They were all released before the attack on the Burrow," he said. And if Lucius is back in his old position, it seems that the Dark Lord has gained control over the Ministry." He paused. "I wonder why…"

"What?" asked Harry, not liking the worried tone of his voice.

"Nothing." Snape shifted. "It's nothing. We'll worry about that later. It's time."

As with a common mind, they all hurried towards the end of the hall. Arched windows made alternating patterns of light and dark on the stone floor and despite the two large torches on either side of the gargoyle, the place felt dark and ominous.

"What do you think the password is?" Hermione asked Snape expectantly.

But something about their Professor gave the impression that he suddenly was a little lost. He was quiet for a long time, seemingly frozen in front of the entrance.

"Minerva mentioned something in her note," he said uncertainly. "Didn't she?"

Hermione sounded confused. "Yes," she said slowly, "you told me you might have an idea about what it meant…"

"I…" Snape chuckled, a bitter hollow sound. "I can't recall. What was it she said?"

"You don't remember?" There was a frown in Hermione's voice. "We talked about it the day before yesterday…"

"Yes, you said as much." Snape seemed to grow annoyed. "Tell me what it was already. We can't linger here."

"Oh…" Hermione shifted. "Sure. It said that the new Headmaster thinks he is…You-Know-Who's equal, or something along those lines…"

"Right…" Snape huffed. "Right. Only he would be so bold."

He shifted, ignoring Ron's impatient grunt. "Master Carrow," he said, but nothing happened. "Master of death," he tried again. "Master Amycus Carrow…Lord Carrow-"

Harry had no idea which, but one of the attempts must have done the trick, because the gargoyle suddenly spun to life, twisting to admit them passage.

"Great!" Ron stepped onto the bottom step. "That was pretty easy."

He seemed relieved, but Harry found it hard to share his joy as they made it to the top to find the Headmaster's office empty. Once inside the stairway, they had dropped their disillusionment charms and he couldn't shake from his thoughts Hermione's concerned expression as she watched Snape wipe an unsteady hand across his face…

"Professor Dumbledore…?"

Hermione was the first to find her voice. They were greeted by surprised outburst from many startled Headmasters.

Except for one change, the circular room was almost exactly as Harry remembered it. The draperies, furniture and the books that lined the tall shelves were all the same. Even the ticking-and-whirring little instruments that had confounded him from the first time he set foot in here were still in pace. The wooden desk was the same and Fawke's perch, although the phoenix must have left the castle along with its master on that fateful day in May.

The difference though, was the newly painted portrait, last in line of all the former headmasters of Hogwarts.

"Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, raising his voice in the general commotion. "Mr. Weasley…Harry…"

"Professor." Harry stepped forward and a hushed silence descended on the room. "I… How are you…?"

He realised the absurdity of his question when Hermione tilted her head to give him a quizzical look. Dumbledore beamed down on them.

"Harry, my boy," he said, sounding almost like the real Dumbledore. "I am delighted to see you here, whole and sound. How have you all been?"

"Professor," said Hermione, catching his attention, "we're here with a rather urgent request." She stepped up onto the dais in the centre of the room, stopping in front of Dumbledore's frame. "I'm sorry to be so abrupt, but we're here on borrowed time. What do you know about the mission that you gave to Harry before your death?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes swept towards Harry, and for a moment, he craned his head as though he was trying to look past his shoulder. "I have been here for two years," he said absently. "I was given instruction on most events that took place during that time, among other things. I know how I died. From then, my knowledge extend only to what information I have been able to gleam inside the castle's walls. In short, Miss Granger, yes, I know of what you speak."

She stalled for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. "Do you have to…" She sighed. "I mean no disrespect, Professor, but I have to ask. Do you have to do the current Headmaster's bidding?"

"I've never-!" The incensed voice belonged to a portrait of a clever-looking man with dark hair and a pointed beard. He glared rudely at Hermione, but Dumbledore silenced him with a look.

"I am honour bound, but not compelled." The Headmaster smiled kindly. "My loyalty remains as it always were, to Hogwarts and its students." He cast his eyes at the bearded man again. "That goes for all of the portraits."

Good." Ron stole a nervous glance at the door. "We need to know the whereabouts of Gryffindor's sword," he said. "You once told Harry that we can use it to our purpose…?"

Again, a rustle of unease went through the room. Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. It is here."

Harry released a breath he hadn't known he was holding back. "Where?"

"There is a concealed niche behind this frame." Dumbledore indicated the wall behind his back. "I made a copy," he said. "But the Carrows took that. I don't know what they did with it, but the real one is still hidden." He looked at Harry. "There is something else in there as well. Harry, I want you to take it."

There was a sadness in Dumbledore's eyes that Harry didn't understand, yet he nodded obediently.

"Keep it hidden and safe," said the portrait. "If for some reason you might want to use it, do so with care and only once."

"Wha-?" Harry frowned. "I don't...?"

"There is no need," said Dumbledore. "Not yet. Now get them. As your incisive friend just pointed out, time is running."

As the tallest of the three, Ron stepped forward to take hold of the painting's frame. It opened soundlessly at his touch, revealing a small compartment inside of the wall.

There, its rubies glimmering red, was the sword of Gryffindor, along with an unremarkable looking black stone. With a curious look, Ron came over to put it carefully in Harry's hand.

It felt cold to his touch, but not malevolent. He turned it around once, watching the light from the candles reflect in its smooth edges. He almost thought he could hear a voice whisper to him, as though carried by an imperceptible wind.

 _Harry…_

"Severus…?"

Inside his frame, Dumbledore's was once again craning his neck. Realising that Snape had been oddly quiet through their conversation, Harry turned around to follow his gaze.

The man was lingering by the door, watching them with a guarded expression, but at Dumbledore's prompting, he stepped forward reluctantly.

"Headmaster," he said, inclining his head.

Something softened in Dumbledore's eyes. "Severus." He smiled. "My boy. How have you been?"

"I…" Snape averted his eyes, his voice gravelly. "I am well, Headmaster."

The lie sent a chill down Harry's spine. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet the Headmaster's questioning frown.

"You look…" Dumbledore seemed for the first time a little uncertain, his eyes darting back and forth between Snape and Harry. "Are you sure? Is there anything…?"

Snape sighed. "All is well," he said softly. "We have located one of the missing objects already and Granger has an idea about what the next one might be…"

Clearly, Snape did not want the old Headmaster to see his distress.

Harry shifted uneasily. It was suddenly obvious to him that there had been much more between Snape and Dumbledore than a mere collegial relationship. That they had meant something to each other. Snape wasn't just beholden to Dumbledore, he held him in high regard. As one does a mentor or a…father… Somehow, they must have shared the kind of relationship that Harry had always wanted. Like the one he could have had with Snape if he had not gone and made a proper mess out of everything…

"Professor Dumbledore." He stepped into the portrait's line of sight, relieving Snape of the burden of its beseeching gaze. "There is something else we need your help with."

"Yes, my boy?" Dumbledore reluctantly pulled his eyes away from Snape.

"It is about Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem," said Hermione, sweeping a glance across all the portraits in the office. "Do any of you know anything about its whereabouts? Anything at all?"

All of Hogwarts' former Headmasters were watching them attentively, but for several seconds, there was complete silence in the room.

"No one…?"

Hermione turned back to Dumbledore. "We think that maybe…"

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand," he murmured. "I've had similar ideas. But I'm afraid that particular heirloom has been lost for centuries…"

"Do you think the elves might know something?"

Dumbledore traced a hand over his beard. The frown line between his eyes deepened as he glanced at Snape.

"I cannot claim to know all of Hogwarts' secrets," he said. "Neither do I know the elves as well as I maybe should. I do not know what they might know; I must admit the thought has not occurred to me…"

"Then perhaps we could ask them?" said Hermione hopefully. The eagerness to believe the best of the elves lit up her face.

"You might," said Dumbledore soberly. "But be careful what you reveal to them. Although they are generally upset with the current administration, there might be some who take their responsibly to the Headmaster to the letter. Talk to Iggle first. He is loyal to my memory, as far as I can tell."

"Alright." Hermione wrung her hands. "Will he come if I call him?"

Instead of replying, Dumbledore called out to the room, "Iggle."

Instantly, a young elf with white-blond tufts of hair on his pointy ears appeared in their midst. He wore a pillowcase embroidered with the Hogwarts crest and a red and white apron tied around his waist. Surrounding him was the smell of freshly baked biscuits.

"Little Masters," he squeaked, glancing at Harry and Ron with large grey eyes. "And Mistress…"

"Iggle," said Dumbledore, "these students of Hogwarts have a request for you. I must ask you to honour them and keep to the outmost discretion. It is a matter most important."

"Yes, Headmaster." Iggle watched the portrait adoringly, his ears perking up in attention.

"Iggle." Hermione crouched down next to the elf, catching his gaze. "There is a diadem. It once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, and is said to enhance the wisdom of the bearer. But it was lost somehow and now we wonder if you know where to find it."

Instead of answering, Iggle took a hasty step away from her, looking at Dumbledore with frightened eyes.

"Do you know of what she speaks?" The old Headmaster peered down on the elf above his half-moon spectacles. "If you do, I must implore you to let it be known."

Iggle stood frozen in place, the hairs on his drooping ears quivering. "The elves know," he whispered. "The elves clean it… We clean all parts of the castle. But we are not to speak of it."

"Says who?" asked Ron. He stepped forward abruptly, making the tiny creature jump and hiss.

"Says _she_. The lady." Iggle suddenly stooped down to knock his head on the floor repeatedly. "We are not to speak of it," he whined between the jarring blows. "Iggle is not to tell!"

"Stop it!"

Hermione ran forward to take hold of his upper arms, restricting the self-inflicted punishment. There was a small bruise on Iggle's forehead already and his breath came in shallow gasps as he looked at Dumbledore with betrayal in his watery eyes.

The Headmaster frowned uncomfortably. "You've been a good and loyal elf, Iggle," he said calmly. "But this quest is more important than either of us. I died for this very cause. Will you not help us?"

"Iggle cannot! She says so!" The elf wriggled, using his long nails to claw at his own face in lieu of beating his head. Hermione struggled to force his hands down.

"Please, Iggle," said Dumbledore urgently.

The tiny creature squirmed in Hermione's arms, tears in his eyes and beads of sweat forming on his bruised face. For a moment, Harry had to avert his gaze from the conflict.

"Iggle is not to speak of it," the elf cried. "Please, Master Dumbledore. Iggle is loyal, he _is_!"

Dumbledore seemed to steel himself inside his wooden confine, standing from his chair to fill the entire frame. There was a moment when the air seemed sucked from the very room and several of the candles on the wall went out. Even Harry had to take a step back because he suddenly remembered the magical presence that had always surrounded the Headmaster in life –A compelling power that demanded the attention of every other magical being.

"Iggle," said Dumbledore forcefully. "I command you to reveal the location of Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem. If you do not, I hereby ban you from Hogwarts' grounds."

"No!" The elf cried openly. "No, please don't! Iggle is a good elf-"

"Say it," ordered the portrait, "or be gone."

"The come-and-go room!" Iggle wailed loudly, struggling against Hermione's hold. "The jewellery case next to the cupboard. Iggle is a bad elf!"

Her grip suddenly slipped and Iggle stole free, running at break-neck speed to ram into the Headmaster's desk. His head hit the edge. There was a sickening crack and he fell to the ground, blood pouring down his bleak face in dark, sticky rivers.

"Iggle! No!"

Hermione ran after him, possibly to prevent him from causing further harm to himself, but as soon as the little creature saw her, he snapped his fingers and was gone. The last thing Harry saw of him was the broken glint in his teary eyes. He almost looked insane.

He swallowed hard, unable to look at Dumbledore. Instead, his gaze drifted towards the back of the room, where Snape was leaning heavily against one of the pillars that arched its way to the roof. The man was just as pale as the elf. He looked like he was about to be unwell, his gaze fixed onto the spot where Iggle disappeared…

"I feel so dirty." Hermione wiped a tear from her cheek, once again searching Dumbledore's face. "Please tell us he will be okay?"

Dumbledore was back in his chair, looking oddly diminished. "I don't know," he said wearily. "But there is nothing you can do for him. The best way to honour his sacrifice is to make use of the information given to us before it is too late. Do any of you have an idea-?"

"Yes," said Harry hoarsely. "We know."

Both Dumbledore and Snape watched him in surprise.

"Do you mind-" started Dumbledore, but suddenly he seemed to change his mind, a wrinkle appearing between his eyes. "Or perhaps," he continued, "some secrets are best left undisturbed…"

"Okay." Hermione sniffed and looked around. "We should do it now then…"

"Yeah." Ron nodded. "I guess here is as good as anywhere else."

"Aright." She dug in her trouser pocket, pulling out the locket and holding it at arm's length. Several of the portraits in the room left their frames and many uttered muffled oaths and curses.

"Ah, I hate this thing…"

Ron scowled. "I know, Hermione. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

"I guess it should be you…" She took a deep breath and turned towards him. "Harry?"

But Harry's mind had gone blank.

"No." He took a wavering step backwards, shaking his head. " _No_."

Ron was suddenly by his side. "Yes, Harry." He grasped his hand, pushing something cold and heavy into it.

The sensation was familiar. He'd killed the basilisk with Gryffindor's sword and although his hand had been smaller back then, he remembered the exact weight and feel of it. The naked blade glittered in the candlelight, beckoning him.

 _Yes_ …

The locket suddenly twitched, swinging in the air from Hermione's hand. She gave a startled cry and dropped it to the floor, backing up against the wall.

Behind him, Harry could feel Snape moving closer and it gave him the final bit of courage that he needed. Steeling himself, he gripped the sword with both hands, readying himself for the blow.

But it was as though the thing inside the locket had sensed his intent. It quivered menacingly, its agitation seeming to grow until the lid sprang open of its own accord and it burned red-hot against the wooden floor.

"Harry!"

Harry felt Snape take hold of his arm, but he wrenched free. There was no way he was allowing Snape to place himself in harm's way this time.

"Stand back," he called in a hard voice, and it was an order. But as his words echoed in the oval room, he saw it: A lidded eye, alive and blinking behind the locket's glass window.

Then a voice hissed inside his head.

 _"I know you heart…"_

"Do it," shouted Hermione.

But the sword point trembled. Out of the Horcrux poured a dark mass. It twisted and grew into the shape of a man, his long cloak creating a shadow that seemed to encompass the entire world.

It looked like Professor Snape, but weirdly distorted. This Snape was unnaturally tall. He seemed younger, handsomer, yet more severe than the real one. There were no wrinkles on his face or creases in his clothing and his hair was groomed and smooth.

" _Harry Potter_ ," Riddle-Snape snarled. " _You are an arrogant, conceited brat and you will never be anything other than that_."

Harry could not tear his eyes from it, because he knew that Snape – the real Snape- had used those exact words to describe him in the past.

" _A disappointment… so unlike your mother…_ "

"Kill it!" He could hear Ron's voice vaguely, like indistinct background noise. The thing in front of him twisted and grew, filling his mind to the brim.

" _You are nothing to me. I despise you._ "

He reeled as the shape closed in on him, extending an accusing finger.

" _Ever since you started school I've known what a worthless waste you are. I've waited and watched you, bidding my time for when I can deliver you into the Dark Lord's hands, eager and willing_ …"

"Strike it with the sword, Harry!"

Riddle-Snape laughed. " _Did you think that we could be a family together? That we could learn to love each other? Why would I ever want that? Did you think that anyone beside your bastardly father would have_ you _, a bullying toe rag, for a son?_ "

It was difficult to distinguish the apparition from reality. Harry crouched down, trying to cover his ears, and the sword lay limp and useless in his trembling hand.

But suddenly another, desperate voice penetrated his bubble of misery.

"It isn't true, Harry," Snape was shouting. "Don't listen to it, those are all lies. I might have said those things once, but I don't mean them anymore. Please believe me! Kill it!"

Harry looked towards him, gradually becoming aware of the difference. _This_ was his Snape. The one with greasy hair and yellow fingernails and crooked teeth. The one who had protected him from harm, ever since he was eleven years old. The one who took an enslavement spell to save him from death…

Wasn't it?

He suddenly lunged forward and the sword flashed.

There was a clang of metal and a piercing drawn-out scream. Then everything went silent.

He didn't realise until he opened them that his eyes had been scrunched shut. Hermione watched him with wide eyes, her bushy hair in wild disarray.

"Harry…? Oh, Harry, are you…?"

He turned his back on her to conceal the wet trails on his cheeks and the sword dropped to the floor with a hollow clunk.

There was a horrible moment of absolute silence when he imagined having killed the wrong Snape. But through a hazy blur, he saw a few pieces of scorched parchment descend towards the floor where the broken locket lay shattered in a thousand pieces. Then, a pair of black boots approached him cautiously…

He did not know if Snape would accept him, but threw cation to the wind nonetheless and leaned forward until his forehead once again came to rest on Snape's shoulder.

All day the knot in his stomach had festered and he had not yet dared to look Snape in the eye. But the wool under his forehead was rough and scratchy, and both their breaths came out in jagged heaves. It felt real.

Suddenly, blissfully, a callused hand tousled his hair gently, eventually coming to rest at the nape of his neck.

He still didn't dare to hope for forgiveness. He knew he didn't deserve it but it was as though a dam inside him broke then. He'd struggled against it the entire morning, but now he finally gave up the fight.

Harry closed his eyes and allowed the tears to flow freely.


End file.
